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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


A 


z 


1.0 


I.I 


IA£|2B     1 2.5 
U£  1^    1 2.2 


us 


■  4.0 


2.0 


llllim 

L25  IIIIU    IIIIII.6 


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Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)872-4503 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

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Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes/Notes  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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et  de  haut  en  bas.  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  m^thode. 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

"Ernest!  towards  you  alone,  I  was  guilty?   Will  you,  can  you 
forgive  me?''    (Page  63.) 


"Jil 


» 


I 


^ 


iov 


IDLE 


/ 


THE    DOUBL 


J  '  "     .■v 


^^^^*>>.v^>C. 


AND 


3.  t^aT*.  ^^ 


T RAN SLAT 


ROM     TUE     FRENCH, 
BY 


MRS.   J.    sjy 


X^7 

NEW    YORK: 
D.  «&  J.  SADLIER  &  CO.,  31  BARCLAY   STREET. 

BOSTON  :~-128   FEDERAIi  STREET. 
MONTREAL  I — COR.  OP  NOTRE  DAME  AND  ST.  FRANCIS  XAVIER  STS. 


\ 


1862. 


Entered  according  to  act  of  Congress  in  the  year  1862,  by 

D.  &  J.  SADLIER  &  CO., 

In  the  Clerk's  OflBce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States,  for  the 

Southern  District  of  New  York. 


Stereotyped  by  VINCKNT  DILL, 

No,  -J4  Beeknian  St.,  N.  Y. 


CONTENTS 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,   THE  DOUBLE   LESSON, 
THE   MEMORARE,         -  .  - 

THE    GODFATHER, 

MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's   EASTER   EGG, 
MALDONATA  ;   OR,    THE   GRATEFUL  LIONESS, 


9 

64 

77 

110 

138 


Mp 

ing  si 

under 

coven 

,  atteiK 

Ithat, 

husba 

nient 

Mr 

euffici( 

Bums  i 

lBituat( 

peacei 

tbe  er 

Ihe  ec 

^e  pe 

fcenth 

u  ^  i 
4uall< 


IDLENESS; 

Oh, 

THE  DOUBLE  LESSON. 


Mr.  D'Olbar,  a  former  colonel  of  artillery,  after  hav- 
ing shared  in  the  perils  and  glories  of  the  French  arms, 
under  the  great  Emperor,  had  retired  from  the  service 
i  covered  with  honorable  scars,  but  still  well  able  to 
attend  to  the  affairs  of  his  family.  He  well  understood 
that,  being  again  his  own  master,  the  serious  duties  of 
jhusband  and  father  devolved  on  him,  and  to  their  fulfil- 
ment he  cheerfully  devoted  himself. 
Mr.  d'Olbar's  fortune,  though  not  large,  was  amply 
sufficient  for  his  tastes  and  habits.  Besides  various 
Bums  invested  in  the  funds,  he  had  a  handsome  property 
[ituate  in  Artois,  his  native  province.  It  was  in  that 
peaceful  retreat,  for  which  he  had  so  often  sighed  amid 
le  endless  bustle  of  the  camp,  that  he  presided  over 
16  education  of  his  three  sons,  the  eldest  of  whom,  at 
the  period  of  which  we  write,  had  just  attained  his  fif- 
teenth year,  and  the  youngest  his  tenth. 

A  gentleman,  named  Deville,  whose  Christian  virtues 
equalled  his  learning  and  accomplishments,  had  been 


10 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


some  time  a  resident  in  the  family,  and  a  voluntary 
sharer  in  Mr.  d'Olbar's  paternal  cares.  These  two  men, 
although  neither  of  the  same  ago  nor  the  same  dis[)osi- 
tion,  seemed  to  live  in  such  perfect  harmony,  such  inti- 
mato  union,  that  each  followed  to  the  letter  the  line  of 
conduct  by  both  marked  out  for  the  education  of  the  boys. 
Hence  it  was  that  the  latter  obeyed  Mr.  Deville's  orders 
as  they  did  their  father^s;  they  knew  that  the  slightest 
disobedience  towards  him  would  be  severely  chastised, 
and  their  lilial  love,  still  more  than  their  fear  of  correc- 
tion, made  them  docile  and  obedient. 

Moreover,  the  colonel  exacted  from  his  sons  no  respect 
for  his  friend,  of  which  he  did  not  himself  constantly  set 
the  example.  He  was  always  ready  to  adopt  his  advice, 
and  never  spoke  to  him  without  a  certain  inflection  of 
the  voice  which  denoted  his  esteem  and  regard.  This 
did  not  escape  the  keen  observation  of  the  boys,  and,  as 
Mr.  d'Olbar  was  usually  rather  cool  and  reserved  in  his 
manners,  they  naturally  suspected  the  existence  of  some 
mysterious  bond  which  attached  their  father  to  Mr. 
Deville. 

Curiosity,  in  children,  seldom  stops  at  wishes  or  con- 
jectures ;  it  is  continually  on  the  alert  till  its  end  is 
obtained,  and  often  induces  them  to  resort  to  means  of 
which  they  are  afterwards  ashamed.  As  regards  Mr. 
d'Olbar's  sons,  nothing  of  this  kind  was  to  be  feared. 
Accustomed  to  confide  everything  to  their  father,  they 
made  up  their  minds  to  let  him  know  the  extent  of  their 
curiosity,  and  it  was  the  eldest  who  took  upon  him  to  do 
it.     A  fortunate  circumstance  soon  gave  him  an  oppor- 


fro 
in  j 


aiitary 
0  men, 

[jh  inti- 
liiie  01 
e  boys. 
5  orders 
lightest 
astised, 
correc- 

resj>ect 
mtly  set 
s  advice, 
ictiou  of 
d.  This 
;,  and,  as 
ed  in  his 
J  of  some 
r  to  Mr. 

s  or  con- 
its  cud  is 
means  of 
rards  Mr. 
be  feared, 
ther,  they 
it  of  their 
him  to  do 
an  oppor- 


I 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE   DOUBLE 

tunity  of  doing  it  without  appea 
intrusive. 
Mr.  d'Olbar^s  dwelling  was  situat 


from  a  large  village  named  Blandec 
in  summer  oy  our  neighbors  beyond  st' 
of  its  proximity  to  the  coast,  from 
dozen  leagues  distant,  but  also  on  accoun 
ous  uir  and  deliishtful  situation. 


;:Vr^A> 


It  would  be  hard,  indeed,  to  find  a  more  charming  or'"'" 
more  varied  landscape  than  here  met  the  eye.  Several 
mills,  fed  by  limpid  brooks,  with  their  sluices  and  narrow 
bridges  ;  an  ancient  castle  with  its  turrets  ;  handsome 
villas  surrounded  by  graceful  foliage  ;  snug  farm-houses, 
whose  straw-thatched  roofs  are  covered  with  ivy  and 
wild  vine ;  far-stretching  meadows,  where  numerous 
flocks  are  grazing  ;  pretty  white  cottages  with  their  neat 
garden-plots,  scattered  here  and  there — all  this  forms  a 
tableau  so  picturesque  and  of  such  varied  beauty,  that 
no  one  can  look  upon  this  quiet  nook  without  wishing  to 
be  one  of  its  peaceful  inhabitants. 

One  side  of  this  beautiful  village  is  a  warren,  traver- 
sed all  the  way  by  a  winding  rivulet  which  seems  to  give 
a  new  charm  to  the  verdant  banks  between  which  it 
flows.  There,  if  one  wishes  to  be  alone  with  his 
thoughts,  he  may  have  solitude  undisturbed ;  he  has 
only  to  leave  the  beaten  path  and  climb  a  wooded  hill 
frequented  only  by  wild  rabbits,  and  immediately  he 
finds  under  the  fohage  a  mossy  hillock,  where  he  can  sit 

land  muse  at  will,  without  fear  of  being  seen  by  prying 

%yes. 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


This  place,  as  favorable  to  the  sports  of  youth  as  to 
the  meditations  of  riper  age,  was  often  visited  by  the 
two  friends  with  their  pupils.  The  latter,  with  books 
and  copy-books  slung  over  their  shoulders,  fastened 
by  a  cord,  their  lunch  under  their  arm,  balls  and 
marbles  in  their  pocket,  ran  gambolling  and  jumping 
afbfr  their  father  and  his  friend. 

Arriving  about  the  middle  of  the  pretty  warren,  they 
seated  themselves  on  the  verdant  turf  and  began  at  once 
to  study,  the  silence  of  the  place  alone  interrupted  by 
the  murmur  of  the  rivulet  or  the  song  of  birds.  They 
ap[)lied  themselves,  then,  with  the  same  assiduity,  if  not 
with  equal  ardor,  to  obtain  a  smile  or  kind  word  from 
their  good  father,  or  an  approving  nod  from  the  grave 
Deville.  Then  followed  a  pleasant  chat,  with  number- 
less questions  put  by  the  boys  and  answered  with  a  view 
to  their  instruction  by  the  two  gentlemen. 

Then  came  the  time  for  play,  of  which  the  boys,  it 
need  hardly  be  said,  made  right  good  use,  and  after  an 
hour  or  two  of  active  recreation,  they  returned  home, 
where  a  kind  mother  welcomed  the  joyous  band  with  a 
smile  which  enhanced  the  pleasures  of  the  day. 

Tliere  were  times,  however,  when  the  domestic  sky 
was  obscured  by  clouds  arising  from  certain  faults  which 
w^ere  but  too  visible  in  Alphonse,  the  second  son  of  Mr. 
d'Olbar.  The  boy  was  now  fourteen,  yet,  notwithstand- 
ing all  the  care  bestowed  on  him,  he  made  little  or  no 
progress  in  his  studies.  With  him,  filial  love  had  to 
struggle  with  an  indolence  which  he  himself  believed 
insurmountable,  because  it  too  often  prevailed  over  his 


1 

let  us 

1 

on  th( 

1 

we  ha 

1 

intima 

m 

to  tell 

m 

"T 

IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


13 


I,  they 
,t  once 
ted  by 
They 
if  not 
d  from 
grave 
umber- 
a  view 

3oys,  it 

fter  au 

home, 

with  a 


s 


5tic  sky 
which 

of  Mr. 
thstand- 
e  or  no 

had  to 
believed 
over  his 


very  best  resolutions.  Thus,  when,  overcome  in  his 
unceasing  struggle,  he  incurred  a  reprimand  or  was 
deprived  of  a  caress,  the  poor  lad  was  so  discouraged, 
so  utterly  dejected  that  he  could  not  join  his  brothers  in 
their  sports,  and  returned  to  the  house  with  a  swelling 
heart. 

One  of  these  unlucky  days,  when  Alphonse,  more  than 
usually  dejected,  sat  under  one  of  the  aged  willows  which 
overhung  the  streamlet  already  mentioned,  Alfred,  his 
elder  brother,  wishing  to  divert  him,  approached  and  said 
to  him : 

"  Since  you're  not  in  hnmor  of  playing  to-day,  Alphonse, 
let  us  go  back  to  father,  where  he  is  walking  alone  yonder 
on  the  hill,  you  see  Mr.  Deville  is  not  with  him,  and  so 
we  have  a  good  chance  to  ask  him  how  he  came  to  be  so 
intimate  with  our  second  mentor.  Perhaps  he  may  agree 
to  tell  us." 

"I  dare  not,"  replied  Alphonse,  "my  lessons  were 
badly  learned,  and  my  exercise  detestable.  Father  looked 
at  me  as  though  he  was  both  angry  and  sorry.  That 
look  pierced  my  heart,  for  it  made  me  feel  how  very 
wicked  I  am  in  giving  way  to  that  cursed  idleness  which 
yet  I  can't  get  over." 

''  Bah  !"  said  Alfred,  in  a  tone  half  jest,  half  earnest, 
"when  one  knows  his  energy  it  only  wants  a  little  cour- 
age to  get  the  better  of  him.  Come  along  now,  and  I'll 
help  you  to  struggle  against  this  idleness  which  frightens 
you  so.  I  promise  you  I'll  give  it  some  good  thumps  now 
and  then  which  will  soon  send  it  about  its  business. 
After  all,  now,  come  to  look  at  you,  I  don't  think  my  aid 


14 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


will  be  necessary  :  repentance,  they  say,  is  a  door  open  to 
all  good  sentiments  ;  here  you  are  on  the  high-road  to  it, 
and  have  only  to  walk  straight  before  you  :  hereafter  you 
will  follow  the  dictates  of  your  own  heart,  and  the  enemy 
will  be  overcome." 

So  saying,  Alfred  pressed  his  brother's  hand  affection- 
ately, then,  calHng  Gustave,  their  youngest  brother,  he 
took  them  to  his  father,  and  presented  a  double  petition 
in  such  persuasive  terms  that  not  only  was  Alphonse 
received  back  into  favor,  but  their  good  father  consented 
to  make  them  acquainted  with  the  particulars  of  his  con- 
nection with  Mr.  Deville. 

"  Yes,  my  children,''  said  he,  regarding  each  in  turn 
with  lively  emotion  ;  "yes,  I  will  willingly  explain  to  you 
the  extent  of  my  gratitude  to  the  friend  to  whom  I  owe 
my  happiness.  Were  it  not  for  him,  I  should  be  now  one 
of  that  multitude  of  ignorant  creatures  who  know  nothing 
i)f  the  duties  imposed  on  them  by  God,  nor  should  I  have 
the  happy  faculty  of  instructing  you  in  the  various 
branches  of  knowledge  necessary  for  your  future  prosper- 
ity in  life. 

"Alphonse,  it  is  to  you  especially  that  my  story  may 
be  profital)le.  Like  you,  I  was  addicted  to  that  odious 
idleness  over  which  you  were  just  now  crying  so  bitterly. 
0  my  dear  son  '  you  know  not  the  miseries  of  which  it 
may  be  the  source.  I  might  cite  a  tliousand  terrilit 
examples,  but  I  hope  my  own  will  suffice  to  convince  you 
on  this  point,  and  to  give  you,  at  last,  the  strength  to 
overcome  a  vice  which,  at  the  very  least,  exposes  us  to 
contempt." 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE    DOUBLE   LESSON. 


15 


enemy 

Section-    > 
her,  he 
petition 
Iphonse 
Hisented 
his  con- 
in  turn 
n  to  you 
m  I  owe 
now  one 
'  nothing 
d  I  have 
I   various 
prosper- 

:,ory  may 
at  odious 

bitterly. 

whlcli  it 
d  terrific 
v'ince  you 
rength  to 
)ses  us  to 


After  these  words,  which  Alphonse  heard  with  inex- 
pressible emotion,  Mr.  d'Olbar  paused  a  moment,  then 
commenced  his  story  in  the  following  terms  : 

"My  father,"  said  he,  "was,  like  myself,  an  officer 
retired  from  the  service,  having  little  to  boast  of,  how- 
ever, except  his  virtues,  his  noble  birth,  and  a  small 
property  now  included  in  my  estate.  He  had  a  trifling 
pension  which  he  lost  at  the  revolution  of  1789. 

"  Being  married  and  the  fatho'r  of  two  children,  and 
employment  being  extremely  difficult  to  procure  at  that 
disastrous  period,  he  courageously  resolved  to  support  his 
family  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow,  since  nothing  else  was 
left  them.  Hiding  then,  his  old  sword,  his  parchments 
and  his  cross  of  St.  Louis,  won  on  the  field  of  honor,  he 
not  only  applied  himself  to  cultivate  his  own  little  farm, 
but  hired  out  his  services  to  others  who  required  his 
assistance. 

"The  courage  and  endurance  necessary  for  the  dis- 
charge of  duties  so  painful  and  so  laborious,  he  derived 
from  that  sacred  love  of  wife  and  children  which  inspires 
man  with  such  heroic  devotion.  Nevertheless  he  gradu- 
ally fell  into  a  state  of  hopeless  dejection,  which  ^t  times 
he  found  it  difficult  to  (conceal  at  home. 

"  The  birth  of  a  third  child  increased  the  expense  of 
our  little  household  where  want  began  at  times  to  show 
its  hideous  face,  especially  when  bad  weather  prevented 
my  fatlier  from  going  to  wo^k.  Then  I  saw  the  silent 
tear  trickling  from  my  mother's  eyes,  and,  without  know- 
ing why,  I  wept  too  and  clung  to  her  more  closely. 

"  Boys,"  continued  Mr.  d'Olbar,  looking  in  turn  at 


16 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


each  of  his  sons  who  were  listening  with  the  closest 
attention,  ''boys,  a  kind  Providence  has  hitherto  saved 
you  from  the  woes  and  miseries  of  poverty  ;  may  it  avert 
them  them  from  you  all  your  life  !  May  God,  at  the 
same  time,  give  you  a  heart  to  feel  for  the  woes  and 
wants  of  others,  and  inspire  you  with  that  respect  and 
compassion  to  which  their  sufferings  entitle  them. 

'*  To  return  to  my  tale  :  My  childhood,  as  you  see, 
passed  away  gloomily  enough  in  a  home  which  was  the 
abode  of  indigence.  Yet  notwithstanding  that  indigence, 
my  excellent  father  neglected  no  means  of  procuring  for 
me  the  elements  of  that  instruction  on  which  he  founded 
his  dearest  hopes. 

**  A  neighboring  teacher,  whose  religious  principles  had 
withstood  the  shock  of  revolution  which  had  convulsed 
all  France,  consented  to  admit  me  amongst  his  pupils  for 
a  very  trifling  remuneration. 

"  I  was  then  eight  years  old,  with  an  excellent  reten- 
tion and  great  facility  of  learning.  Unhappily  these 
precious  gifts  were  nullified  by  much  idleness  and  a  total 
want  of  application.  I  succeeded  nevertheless,  thanks  to 
the  talents  which  nature  had  given  me,  in  obtaining  the 
first  places  amongst  the  young  villagers,  my  schoolmates. 
Still  my  worthy  teacher  was  far  from  being  blind  to  my 
faults,  for  which  he  often  rebuked  me  very  sharply,  and, 
indeed,  he  spared  no  pains  to  cure  me  of  them.  Hoping 
that  as  I  grew  older  these  faults  might  gradually  disap- 
pear, he  forbore  tiny  complaints  that  might  grieve  or 
annoy  my  parents,  for  the  good  man  respected  their  mis- 
fortunes. 


■S 


long 
unab 
or  ni( 
two  I 
as  I 
sendii 
than 

tear, 
devot 
wouk 
towai 
shall 
reparj 
could 
remor 
"I 
were 
of  wlj 
his  art 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


n 


"Six  years  passed  away  thus.  From  my  size  and 
robust  appearance,  one  would  have  taken  me  to  be  six- 
teen. I  had  the  happiness  of  making  my  first  Commu- 
nion. I  wrote  well,  showed  considerable  talent  for  figures, 
and  was  well  acquainted  with  the  rudiments  of  Latin. 
Less  would  have  sufficed  to  persuade  my  poor  father  that 
I  could  do  much  greater  things  with  ease.  He  thought 
of  sending  me  to  study  the  classics  at  a  famous  college 
in  the  neighboring  town.  Alas  !  this  favorite  project  so 
long  and  so  fondly  cherished,  he  found  himself  wholly 
unable  to  carry  out.  At  one  time  he  thought  of  selling 
or  mortgaging  his  little  property,  but  reflecting  that  my 
two  sisters  had  as  much  right  to  his  paternal  solicitude 
as  I  had,  he  renounced  this,  the  only  feasible  means  of 
sending  me  to  college,  and  his  despondency  was  greater 
than  ever. 

"Ah  I"  continued  Mr.  d'Olbar,  as  he  wiped  away  a 
tear,  "if  children  only  understood  the  love,  the  sublime 
devotion  that  exists  in  the  heart  of  a  father  or  a  mother, 
would  there  be  one  found  to  show  himself  ungrateful 
towards  them  ?  I  think  not ;  and  were  it  not  that  I 
shall  subsequently  have  to  tell  you  of  the  expiation  and 
reparation  of  the  faults  of  my  youth,  most  certainly  I 
could  not  bring  myself  to  speak  of  them  :  shame  and 
remorse  would  bury  them  forever.     But  to  resume  : 

"  It  was  just  when  these  harrassing  cares  about  me 
were  at  their  height  in  my  father^s  bosom,  that  a  relative 
of  whom  the  family  had  long  lost  sight  suddenly  made 
his  appearance. 

"Mr.  de  Verval,  my  mother's  brother,  had  escaped 


18 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


the  troubles  of  time,  by  flying  to  a  foreign  land.  More 
fortunate  than  most  of  his  companions  in  exile,  he  had 
been  saved  the  trials  and  privations  of  emigration  by 
contracting,  in  Vienna,  an  advantageous  marriage,  which 
secured  to  him  an  easy  competence.  Left  a  widower 
soon  after,  he  was  one  of  the  first  to  obtain  permission 
to  return  to  France,  and  in  due  time  he  reached  Paris, 
where  he  had  many  friends  and  relations. 

"  In  speaking  to  you,  my  children,  of  this  maternal 
uncle,  I  would  wish  to  confine  myself  to  his  good  quali- 
ties and  the  favors  he  conferred  on  me  ;  but  his  stern 
and  rugged  temper  had  such  an  effect  on  years  of  my  life 
that  I  cannot  pass  it  over  in  silence.  Mr.  do  Yerval  was 
the  coldest,  and  most  arbitrary  man  I  have  ever  known. 
There  was  no  affection  in  his  heart  ever  strong  enough 
to  control  his  will,  or  influence  his  tastes.  Coming  back 
to  us,  he  was,  doubtless,  pleased  to  see  my  father  and 
mother  again,  although  we  children  looked  in  vain  for 
any  exterior  symptom  of  emotion  on  his  stern  features. 
During  his  stay,  he  never  invited  the  confidence  of  my 
parents,  who  were,  therefore,  silent  with  regard  to  their 
want.  He,  nevertheless,  saw  what  they  chose  not  to 
reveal :  when  about  to  leave  us,  he  told  my  father  that 
he  would  pay  my  board  in  a  Parisian  college,  provided 
I  were  sent  within  a  fortnight.  This  offer  was  very 
tempting :  it  revived  the  hopes  so  long  entertained 
with  regard  to  my  prospects.  After  some  struggles,  my 
parents  made  a  sacrifice  of  their  own  feelings,  and  con- 
sented to  let  me  go. 

"  It  is  needless  to  tell  you  how  grieved  were  my  fond 


(< 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


19 


mother  and  my  dear  sisters  when  the  momeut  of  my 
departure  came.  Even  I  myself,  with  all  my  lightness 
of  disposition,  did  not  receive  their  last  embrace  without 
emotion,  or  look  back  on  the  dear  old  home  I  was  leav- 
ing for  the  first  time,  without  a  feehng  of  sorrow.  That 
pleasant  country,  those  verdant  meadows,  and  smiling 
hills,  the  scenes  of  my  boyish  sports,  had  no  small  share 
in  my  regret :  I  could  have  kissed  every  tree  I  passed, 
every  blade  of  grass  so  often  trodden  in  careless  play. 
Many  a  time  did  I  turn  to  look  at  the  smoke  of  our 
chimney,  and  even  to  that  my  lips  breathed  a  sad  fare- 
well. Was  it  a  presentiment  of  the  troubles  that  awaited 
mo  far  away  from  that  beloved  home  where  I  left  so  much 
affection  ?  I  know  not  that — I  rather  suppose  that  every 
boy  or  girl  leaving  home  for  the  first  time  must  feci  much 
as  I  felt  then. 

"My  father  had  not  courage  to  go  with  me  to  the 
village  of  Arques,  where  I  was  to  taka  the  stage  for 
Paris.  One  of  our  neighbors  came  in  his  stead,  and  the 
good  man  tried  hard  to  console  me  as  we  went  along 
When  the  coach  appeared,  he  bade  me  a  kind  farewell, 
and  gave  me  in  charge  to  the  driver,  who  had  already 
undertaken  to  convey  me  in  safety  to  my  destination. 

"  1  will  not  attempt  to  describe  my  feelings  during  this 
journey.  I  was  so  dejected,  so  unhappy,  that  no  exterior 
object  had  power  to  attract  my  attention.  On  the  third 
day,  about  noon,  we  reached  the  great  city.  There  only 
did  my  curiosity  begin  to  awake.  Our  way  lay  through 
one  of  the  liveliest  and  most  animated  sections  of  the 
my  fond    m    city     The  noise,  the  continual  motion,  of  which  we 


20 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


0 

'r  1 


Rr  "^ 


could  form  no  adequate  idea  in  our  quiet  country,  struck 
me  with  such  surprise,  that  my  eyes  wandered  irom  one 
tiling  to  another,  anxious  to  see  all  at  once.  As  we 
whirled  along  through  the  busy  thoroughfares  I  wanted 
to  hear  my  companions  complain  as  I  did  of  being  borne 
too  swiftly  on,  and  I  felt  annoyed  at  the  cool  indifference 
with  which  they  looked  on  things  that  excited  so  much 
admiration  in  myself. 

"  But  at  hist  I  was  forced  to  leave  the  coach  where 
for  some  "moments  T  had  enjoyed  so  much  pleasure.  For- 
tunately, a  new  attraction  presented  itself  to  my  curios- 
ity. Faitliful  to  his  engagement  with  regard  to  me,  the 
driver  informed  me,  as  I  stepped  from  the  coach,  that  he 
would  go  with  me  himself  to  the  place  of  my  destination  ; 
and  when  he  had  delivered  their  baggage  to  the  other 
passengers,  he  took  mine  on  his  shoulder,  and  made  a 
sign  for  me  to  follow  him.  I  willingly  obeyed  ;  but,  my 
head  being  gidjiy  from  the  effects  of  the  long  journey  by 
stage,  I  could  hardly  keep  my  feet,  but  went  staggering 
along  the  narrow  streets  at  the  imminent  risk  of  being 
run  over  by  some  of  Mie  numerous  carriages  which  were 
passing  so  swiftly  to  ana  fro.  The  driver,  with  an  angi*y 
oath  or  imprecation,  dragged  me  by  the  arm  out  of  the 
danger,  or  warned  me  to  take  care.  At  length  we  got 
out  of  this  muddy  labyrinth,  descended  a  flight  of  steps 
leading  to  a  passage  garnished  with  pretty  shops,  where 
toys  and  confectionery  alternately  caught  my  eyes,  and 
excited  desires  which  I  was  unable  to  gratify  ;  then  I  per- 
ceived a  large  garden,  surrounded  by  magnificent  buildings, 
and  I  asked  my  companion  if  that  was  my  uncle^s  house. 


agam 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


81 


" '  Not  exactly,  little  fellow/  replied  the  man,  laughing 
in  my  face,  which  mortified  me  not  a  little. 

"The  building  I  saw  was  the  Palais-Royal,  built  by 
Richelieu,  in  the  time  of  Louis  XIII. 

"  I  entered  with  my  laughing  guide  an  immense  gallery, 
and  I  was  so  dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  the  surrounding 
objects  that  I  cried  aloud  :  '  Oh  !  if  my  sisters  could  only 
see  all  that  I' 

"  Heading  this,  the  coachman  was  seized  with  a  violent 
fit  of  laughter,  but  whilst  I  was  gazing  enraptured  on  the 
marvellous  bazaar,  he  took  me  by  force  away  from  that 
enchanting  spectacle. 

"  A  little  after,  the  colonnade  of  the  Louvre  threw  me 
into  another  ecstacy  :  I  was  transported  with  admiration 
at  the  sight  of  such  magnificent  architecture,  but  there 
again  my  merciless  guide  urged  me  on  without  a  moment's 
delay. 

"  *  Come  along,  my  little  fellow,'  he  kept  saying  'n  his 
jeering  way,  *  do  you  think  I  have  got  time  to  wait  on 
your  wonders  ?  Since  you  are  going  to  live  in  Paris,  you 
can  see  all  these  at  your  leisure.  We  have  a  good  quar- 
ter of  an  hour's  walk  before  us  yet,  so  pull  out  and  leave 
off  your  gazing  !'  And  he  actually  pulled  me  along  for 
the  remainder  of  the  way. 

"  Arrived  at  the  Pont-Neuf,  my  attention  was  again 
attracted  by  the  shops,  the  river,  with  its  baths  and  its 
great  boats  of  washerwomen :  but  on  I  had  to  go,  on 
aud  on,  till  at  last  we  reached  the  foot  of  the  Rue 
Tournon,  where  my  uncle  resided. 

"He  was  only  a  new  comer  in  t-io  place,  and  had 


22 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


apartments  on  the  first  floor.  My  conductor  left  mc  at  the 
door  after  having  made  sure  tliat  Mr.  Verval  lived  there. 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  how  sad  I  felt  when  this  faithful 
travelling  companion  bade  me  adieu.  It  seemed  to  me  as 
though  in  him  1  lost  the  last  trace  of  home,  and  I  could 
hardly  restrain  my  tears.  The  face  of  the  servant  who 
gave  me  admission  was  but  little  calculated  to  remove 
this  impression.  1  saw  his  features,  cold  and  stern  like 
those  of  his  master,  darkening  as  he  looked  at  me,  and 
my  heart  was  chilled. 

"  '  My  master  is  gone  out,'  said  he  very  drily,  '  but  he 
left  orders  for  you  to  await  his  return  in  this  room,'  and 
he  opened  the  door  of  a  small  dining-room  opening  on  a 
narrow  court.  '  If  you'd  like  to  eat  a  bit  before  dinner, 
which  will  be  at  five  o'clock  precisely,  I'll  bring  you  a 
crust  of  bread.' 

"  I  had  eaten  nothing  all  day  ;  but,  without  consulting 
my  stomach,  I  refused  the  offer,  and  sat  down  in  a  corner 
of  the  dark  room  where  the  servant  left  me. 

"There,  I  tried  in  vain  to  think  of  the  wonders  I  had 
seen,  the  recollection  had  no  power  to  overcome  my  sad- 
ness ;  I  felt  as  tliough  all  around  me  were  an  immense 
void.  To  crown  my  misery  I  was  ready  to  faint  with 
hunger,  yet  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  call  back  the 
man  who  had  spoken  to  me  so  harshly — I  waited  till  my 
uncle  came. 

"At  five  o'clock  he  appeared,  punctual  to  the  moment. 
*  Well,'  said  he,  in  his  dry,  cool  way,  as  he  condescended 
to  give  me  his  hand,  '  you  have  had  a  pleasant  journey  of 
it.     How  goes  all  at  home  V 


I 


II 


thou< 

lowec 

then 

sorro\^ 

which 

calme 

"IV 
Mr.  d( 

"M 
Xevor 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


23 


"  Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  pointed  to  a  seat 
at  the  table,  and  we  sat  down  to  dinner.  The  meal  being 
over  I  felt  much  refreshed,  and  did  my  best  to  make  a 
favorable  impression  on  my  uncle,  but  he  hardly  appeared 
to  notice  my  little  attempts  to  please  him.  Rising  imme- 
diately after  the  desert,  he  told  me  in  the  same  cold  way, 
without  the  least  appearance  of  a  smile  :  '  You  must  be 
tired,  nephew,  bed  is  the  best  place  for  you — Peter  will 
show  you  where  you  sleep  to-night,  and  to-morrow  you 
enter  the  college.  You  shall  be  awoke  at  seven  ;  at  eight 
we  leave  here.     Good-bye.     Try  and  sleep  well/ 

"  And  so  he  left  the  room,  this  time  without  shaking 
hands. 

'  This  icy  welcome  formed  such  a  dismal  contrast  to 
the  fond  afifection  lavished  on  me  at  home,  that  I  could 
not  but  think  of  it  with  a  desponding  heart,  young  and 
tlioughtless  though  I  was.  With  a  swelling  heart  I  fol- 
lowed Pierre  to  a  loft  where  he  pointed  out  a  bed,  and 
then  left  me  without  a  glimpse  of  light.  Slowfully  and 
sorrowfully  I  knelt  down,  and,  having  said  the  prayers 
which  my  mother  taught  me,  I  lay  down  to  sleep  with  a 
calmer  mind. 

"  Nevertheless,  when  I  appeared  next  morning  before 
Mr.  de  Verval,  I  was  still  sad  and  dejected. 

"  '  What  I'  said  he,  '  are  you  home-sick  already  ? 
Never  mind,  that  won't  last  long  when  you're  once  in 
college.  Boys  have  no  time  there  for  fretting,  I  promise 
you.  I  suppose  your  parents  told  you  that  you  have  to 
api)ly  yourself  very  closely  to  your  studies  if  you  want  to 
gain  my  good  will.    It  depends  altogether  ou  yourself. 


24 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,   THE    DOUBLE   LESSON. 


If  you  do  not  lay  your  mind  to  study,  depend  upon  it, 
you  will  soon  be  punished.  Make  haste  now  and  eat 
your  breakfast  till  we  get  away/ 

"  I  obeyed  in  silence,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  after, 
we  reached  the  college  of  Louis-le-Grand.  It  was  on  a 
Thursday.  Being  qncstioned  as  to  my  previous  studies,  I 
was  placed  in  the  fourth  class.  My  uncle  then  paid  a 
quarter  in  advance,  provided  me  with  everything  I 
required,  and  I  put  on  at  once  the  college  costume. 

'*  I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  felt  on  finding  myself  thus 
suddenly  metamorphosed,  especially  when  I  saw  my 
numerous  companions  in  recreation.  Several  ran  up  to 
rae  with  that  sprightly  vivacity  natural  to  youth  ;  they 
invited  me  to  join  their  play  ;  I  willingly  agreed,  and 
when  I  followed  them  at  noon  to  the  refectory,  Mr.  de 
Yerval's  cutting  words  were  all  forgotten — no  traces  of 
sadness  remained. 

"  This  circumstance  may  give  you  an  idea  of  the  light- 
ness of  ray  disposition.  Unhappily  it  will  not  be  the 
only  proof  of  it.  Thus,  from  the  very  first  day,  instead 
of  seeking  the  company  of  the  best  disposed  of  my  new 
comrades,  I  took  up  with  the  idlest  and  most  dissipated. 
Many  of  them  boasted  before  me  of  their  cleverness  in 
outwitting  their  masters,  and  I  admired  their  dexterity 
too  much  not  to  try  and  imitate  it.  One  of  them,  espe- 
cially, excited  my  admiration,  and  to  him  I  was  wonder- 
fully attracted  from  the  first. 

"This  youth,  whom  I  shall  call  Isidore,  has  had  so 
large  a  share  in  all  my  subsequent  misfortunes,  that  it  may 
not  be  amiss  to  give  you  a  sketch  of  bis  character. 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,   THE  DOUBLE   LESSON. 


25 


''Though  older  than  I,  he  was,  nevertheless,  more 
backward  in  his  studies  ;  not  that  he  was  wanting  in 
quickness  or  intelliffcnce,  but  because  his  idleness  had 
been  greater  even  tlian  mine.  Having  a  horror  of  any- 
thing like  work,  a  stranger  to  all  generous  sentiments,  if 
at  times  he  pretended  to  apply  himself  to  study,  it  was 
only  for  fear  of  being  punished,  doing  his  best  always  to 
appear  naturally  stupid,  in  order  that  his  teaclieta  might 
give  him  less  to  learn  or  to  do.  Thus,  emulation,  that 
noble  ardor  which  excites  us  to  excel  in  our  studies  or 
our  labors,  whatever  they  may  be,  was,  in  him,  annihi- 
lated by  that  shameful  love  of  idleness  which  has  since 
brought  him  to  the  most  abject  misery.  Otherwise,  he 
was  mild,  supple,  insinuating,  already  well  versed  in  the 
art  of  dissimulation,  and  that  fatal  talent  was  in  his 
hands  a  weapon  ever  turned  against  those  whom  he 
wished  to  seduce. 

"I  had  the  ill-fortune  to  attract  his  attention.  We 
were  born  in  the  same  province,  which  gave  him  yet 
another  title  to  my  confidence,  and  he  made  such  use  of 
it,  that  his  pernicious  councils  became  the  spring  of  all 
my  actions. 

"  It  is  worthy  of  remark  that  the  wicked  are  generally 
anxious  to  have  imitators :  one  would  suppose  they  find 
an  excuse  for  themselves  in  the  number  of  their  prose- 
lytes. 

*'  Alas  1  I  was  too  young  and  too  giddy  to  make  such 
reflections.  Drawn  gradually  away  from  my  duties,  I 
neglected  them  all,  or  discharged  them  in  such  a  way 
that,  from  the  very  first,  I  was  ranged  amongst  the 


26 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


idlest  and  most  dissipated  pupils  of  the  college.  Thus, 
often  as  my  uncle  came  to  the  master  to  inquire  after  my 
conduct,  complaints  of  all  kinds  were  added  to  the  bad 
marks  already  received.  In  vain  did  letters  from  home 
unite  reprimands  with  advice  ;  on  receiving  them,  I  was 
much  affected,  and  made  many  good  resolutions,  but  soon 
the  fatal  influence  of  Isidore  and  his  evil  example  made 
me  forget  all. 

"What  he  applied  himself  chiefly  to  destroy  in  my 
heart,  was  the  love  and  fear  of  God,  the  only  basis  of 
true  good,  and  without  which  man,  were  his  intentions 
ever  so  good,  floats  incessantly  amidst  the  shoals  of  life, 
where  he  at  length  perishes  like  a  rudderless  vessel. 

"Before  I  had  formed  this  unhallowed  connection, 
sacred  things  inspired  me  with  respect ;  my  mother,  as  I 
told  you,  had  given  me  a  taste  for  prayer.  Isidore 
turned  this  pious  custom  into  ridicule  ;  then  I  was  left 
without  strength  or  support  against  his  evil  councils,  and 
my  own  inclinations. 

"Six  months  passed  thus.  Since  the  day  I  entered 
college  I  had  neve»'  once  seen  Mr.  de  Verval,  for  on  holi- 
days I  was  nearly  always  in  punishment.  One  day,  how- 
ever, I  was  sent  for  to  the  parlor  to  see  my  uncle.  I 
went  down  trembling,  and  bhishing,  not  daring  to  raise 
my  eyes  even  when  he  spoke  to  me. 

"  *  Well !'  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  the  coldest  and  most 
piercing  irony,  '  I  see  you  are  ashamed  of  yourself ;  you 
are  aware,  then,  of  the  extent  of  your  fault,  and  feel 
how  unwarrantably  you  have  abused  my  kindness. 
Neither  can  you  forget,  I  think,  the  poverty  to  which 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


2T 


rhus, 
iv  my 
e  bad 
home 
I  was 
t  soon 
i  made 

in  my 
isis  of 
entious 
of  life, 

el. 
iiection, 

er,  as  I 

Isidore 
^as  left 
lis,  and 

entered 
on  holi- 
y,  liow- 
icle.  1 
0  raise 

id  most 

ilf ;  you 

Ind  feel 

lindness. 

whicb 


your  parents  are  reduced,  and  the  hopes  they  founded  on 
you.  Notwithstanding  all  this,  setting  aside  the  duties 
of  filial  love  and  of  just  gratitude  towards  me,  you  have 
braved  all  to  give  yourself  up  to  the  most  degrading 
idleness.  Well !  attend  now  to  what  I  say  ;  I  will  not 
waste  time  listening  to  idle  excuses  :  I  merely  come  to 
signify  my  will.  You  have  lost  six  months,  six  months 
which  cost  me  a  considerable  sum.  I  give  you  six  more 
to  repair  your  fault.  If  I  then  have  sufficient  proof  of 
your  good  intentions,  if  you  shall  have  testified  a  proper 
zeal  and  application  to  your  studies,  if,  in  fine,  you  shall 
have  escaped  punishment  for  that  time,  I  may  yet  repose 
some  confidence  in  you,  and  continue  to  pay  your  expen- 
ses. But  mark  me  well ! — should  the  contrary  be  the 
case,  and  you  fail  in  the  conditions  I  have  imposed  on 
you,  you  shall  immediately  leave  the  college,  and  betake 
yourself  to  some  trade,  at  which  you  must  earn  your 
bread  by  the  sweat  of  your  brow.  My  resolution  on  this 
point  is  fixed  and  irrevocable  ;  so  think  of  it !  It  is 
only  for  the  sake  of  your  family  that  I  give  you  this  sec- 
ond trial.  May  you  come  forth  victorious  I  If  not,  you 
shall  learn  too  late  that  no  one  braves  me  with 
impunity.^ 

""\rith  these  words,  pronounced  in  a  harsh,  discordant 
voice,  Mr.  de  Yerval  left  the  room,  where  I  remained  as 
i  if  spell-bound.  Passing  at  the  moment  was  one  of  the 
ushers  who  had  on  several  occasions  manifested  an 
interest  in  me  by  giving  me  excellent  advice,  unhappily 
|too  much  neglected.  Seeing  my  paleness,  he  thought  I 
^was  unwell,  and  came  to  question  me.     I  could  hardly 


r; 


■A 

'I 


i 

i 


38 


IDLENESS  :    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


speak  to  lam  at  first,  being  half  choked  with  sighs  and 
sobs.  He  understood  me  nevertheless,  and  urged  me  in 
the  tenderest  and  most  earnest  manner  to  try  and  do  bet- 
ter. He  consoled  me  as  best  he  could,  made  me  promise 
to  shun  the  dangerous  company  of  Isidore,  and  to  strug- 
gle against  my  own  idle  habits. 

"  This  promise  I  faithfully  kept  for  tTVO  whole  months. 
Accordingly  I  made  rapid  progress  during  that  time,  and 
was  never  once  punished.  Never  had  I  felt  so  happy. 
Supported  and  encouraged  by  the  kind  and  prudent 
Deville,  whom  you  have  doubtless  recognized  already,  I 
hoped  to  pass  through  the  time  of  probation  with  credit 
to  myself,  and  I  no  longer  dreaded  the  presence  of 
my  uncle.  But  alas  !  my  worthy  mentor  was  taken 
from  me.  Notwithstanding  his  obscure  position  in  the 
college  his  merits  were  not  unknown.  He  was  offered  a 
situation  as  private  tutor,  with  a  good  salaiy ;  he 
accepted  the  oifer,  and  went  to  his  home  somewhere  in 
the  provinces. 

''I  was  grieved  at  heart  when  the  time  of  his  depart- 
ure came,  and  he  himself  was  scarcely  less  so  ;  he 
renewed  his  good  advice,  marked  out  a  line  of  conduct 
which  must  have  ensured  success,  and  set  out  quite  satis- 
fied that  I  was  in  a  fair  way  of  doing  well.  Alas  !  this 
excellent  friend  had  not  yet  acquired  a  full  knowledge  of 
the  human  heart ;  he  knew  not,  above  all,  what  wicked- 
ness can  do  to  obtain  its  end.  Isidore,  that  insidious 
enemy  of  my  repose,  had  not  lost  sight  of  me.  Forced 
by  Mr.  Deville's  kind  protection  to  keep  away  from  mo, 
he  returned  to  the  charge  as  soon  as  he  found  me  again 


I 


saw  w 
Myd( 
name 
couns( 
"0 
But  a 
my  tra 
''M 
myself 
parents 
little  h 
long  as 
more  tij 
sure  of 
"'A 
''Sue 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


29 


and 
ne  in 
)  bet- 
omise 
strug- 

oDths. 
le,  and 
happy. 
Tudent 

3ady,  I 
I  credit 
nee  of 
;  taken 
iu  the 
ffered  a 

here  in 

depart- 

Iso  ;    he 
1  conduct 
lite  satis- 
lasl  this 
hedge  of 
wicked- 
llusidioiis 
Forced 
from  me, 
U  aguiu 


exposed,  and  with  my  usual  weakness,  1  allowed  him  to 
get  the  upper  hand  of  me  and  gradually  relapsed  into  my 
former  bad  habits. 

"  I  wish,  dear  children,  1  could  efface  from  my  memory 
this  period  of  my  life,  for  it  was  the  cause  of  many  evils  ! 
What  shall  I  say  ?  Drawn  farther  than  ever  away  from 
the  path  of  duty  in  which  I  had  so  lately  walked  with  so 
much  honor  and  contentment,  I  forgot  my  promises,  my 
parents,  even  my  uncle's  threats,  and  the  punishments 
began  again. 

**I  was  just  in  the  midst  of  these  repeated  transgres- 
sions when  my  last  month  of  trial  came  on.  To  complete 
my  madness,  I  allowed  myself  to  be  drawn  into  revolt : 
it  was  the  abyss  which  had  been  opened  before  me  as  I 
saw  when  they  were  about  to  put  me  in  close  confinement. 
My  despair  was  all  the  more  dreadful  when  I  learned  the 
name  of  the  informer  :  it  was  Isidore,  the  very  one  whose 
counsels  had  ruined  me  I 

"  Oh  1  how  bitter,  how  sincere  was  then  my  regret  I 
But  all  too  late  ;  I  was  now  to  undergo  the  penalty  of 
my  transgressions, 

"  Mr.  de  Yerval  came  to  me  in  my  prison.  I  threw 
myself  at  his  feet,  crying,  *■  Uncle  !  have  pity  on  my  poor 
parents  !  give  me  only  another  chance  I  leave  me  yet  a 
little  longer  ! — I  will  remain  six  months,  or  a  year,  or  as 
long  as  you  please,  on  bread  and  water,  for  I  deserve 
more  than  that.  But  repentance  is  in  my  soul,  and  I  am 
sure  of  making  up  for  the  past.' 

*'  *  Arise,  and  go  before  me  I' 

*'Such  was  the  answer  I  received.     I  had  only  to 


vV\ 


! 


% 


I 


'I 


m 


^^m 


\':\ 


A 


I*-  ^> 


m- 


30 


IDLENESS  :    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


obey.  We  reached  the  college-gate  where  a  hackney 
coach  awaited  us  ;  my  desk  and  trunk  were  placed  in  it 
by  the  porter,  and  we  set  out.  During  the  rapid  journey 
which  we  made,  my  despair  broke  out  anew  ;  I  endeav- 
ored to  excite  my  uncle's  pity  and  obtain  his  pardon  ;  he 
was  inexorable,  and  silenced  me  with  so  much  severity, 
that  I  was  fairly  overwhelmed  and  fell  back  almost  faint- 
ing on  my  seat. 

"  A  few  moments  after  we  entered  a  wide  street  which 
I  afterwards  found  to  be  St.  Antoine  street,  and  where 
numerous  furniture  stores  were  to  be  seen  on  either  side. 
The  coach  stopped  at  one  of  them  ;  my  uncle  made  me 
get  out,  and  my  baggage  was  taken  into  the  shop.  A 
man  then  appeared  with  broad,  square  shoulders,  and 
harsh,  though  rather  regular  features.  He  saluted  Mr. 
de  Verval,  and  eyed  me  from  head  to  foot. 

*' '  So  this  is  our  young  man  !'  said  he  ;  '  faith  he  has 
the  cut  of  a  good  workman.  My  word  for  it  he'll  keep 
straight  here  ;  if  not,  I'd  be  bound  to  show  him  the  way 
with  an  odd  cut  of  the  lash,  and  I'm  apt  to  strike  hard 
when  I'm  put  to  it.  I  hope  things  won't  come  to  that 
anyliow.' 

"  '  You  have  full  power  to  do  as  you  please,'  said  Mr. 
de  Yerval,  '  he  must  be  a  good  tradesman,  since  he  would 
be  nothing  else.' 

"  I  dropped  once  more  at  ray  uncle's  feet,  crying : 
'  Uncle  !  in  Heaven's  name,  don't  forsake  me  I  Mercy  1 
Mercy !'  .         , 

"  '  You  only  annoy  me  with  your  tears  and  prayers,'  he 
replied  coldly,  as  he  pushed  me  away.    '  Did  I  not  tell 


li  < 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


31 


H 


you  six  months  ago  that  my  will  should  be  irrevocable  ? 
You  have  audaciously  braved  me  out ;  and  now  you  shall 
undergo  the  penalty  of  your  guilt.  The  step  which  I 
now  take  has  your  father's  approbation.  You  have, 
therefore,  no  resource,  and  must  submit  to  your  fate.' 

''Then  addressing  the  cabinet-maker — *  Mr.  Simonnin, 
have  you  got  those  things  which  were  wanting  V 

"  '  Oh  I  yes,  sir,  yes  ;  here's  the  vest,  and  the  apron, 
too.     The  other  things  will  be  ready  by  to-morrow.' 

"  '  It  is  well — I  thank  you  for  being  so  punctual. 
Now,  sir,'  continued  my  uncle,  turning  again  towards  me, 
'leave  off  that  coat,  which  you  are  to  wear  no  more, 
and  put  on  the  clothes  which  suit  your  new  trade.  If 
you  should  one  day  do  it  honor  by  your  virtues,  perhaps 
I  may  remember  our  kindred  ;  meanwhile,  you  have  only 
yourself  to  depend  on.' " 

"  So  saying,  he  entered  the  coach  and  disappeared. 
A  long  silence  followed.  For  me,  I  stood  motionless  at 
tlie  farther  end  of  the  shop,  holding  in  my  hand  the  vest 
which  I  was  to  put  on.  All  at  once  it  dropped  from  my 
hand,  and  I  fell  stiff  on  the  floor.  I  know  not  how  long 
I  remained  in  that  state,  but  when  I  recovered  I  found 
myself  in  the  back-shop.  A  woman  was  near  me,  and 
she  looked  at  me  with  so  much  compassion  that  I  burst 
out  crying,  and  felt  much  relieved. 

" '  Come,  come,  no  more  nonsense  I'  cried  master 
Simonnin,  who  was  standing  near  the  arm-chair  in  which 
he  had  placed  me.  'It's  all  well  enough  for  the  first 
moment  or  so.  To  be  sure  it's  hard  enough  to  be  made 
a  tradesman  of  when  one  might  be  a  gentleman,  but 


H'&i 


5.1  ,?l 

li 


I'm 


m 


■ii 


;>.- 


1 


I 


m 


m 


I 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 

whose  fault  is  it  ?  Now,  there's  no  use  in  crying  like  a 
baby  ;  the  wine  is  out  and  must  be  drank.  What's  your 
name,  my  boy  V 

*' '  Ernest  d'Olbar,  sir.' 

*'  *  Well,  listen  to  me,  Ernest :  there's  no  use  fretting 
about  what  has  happened.  It  won't  kill  anybody  to  be 
a  cabinet-maker,  for,  after  all,  it's  a  fine  trade.  As  for 
me,  though  I  say  it  myself,  there's  worse  than  me  in  the 
world,  for  all  you  would'nt  think  so  to  look  at  me.  Ask 
Madam  Simonnin  there  !  If  so  be  that  my  apprentices 
aren't  lazy,  I  treat  them  well ;  they  eat  as  we  do  our- 
selves, and  as  mucli  as  ever  they  like.  In  the  morning, 
indeed,  they  have  nothing  but  plenty  of  bread,  but  I 
give  them  two  sous  to  buy  butter  or  cheese.  Then  they 
get  an  odd  chance  now  and  then  from  the  customers, 
when  they  go  home  with  furniture  to  them.  All  that 
amounts  to  something  at  the  end  of  the  year  :  it  may  buy 
you  a  new  cap  to  sport  on  Sundays.  That  is  not  the 
trouble,  though,  for  as  I'm  to  have  the  dressing  of  you, 
you'll  have  nothing  of  that  kind  to  provide.  So  your 
pocket  will  be  the  better  furnished.  But  with  all  this, 
mind  again  what  I  have  to  tell  you  :  you  must  march 
right  straight  before  you — if  not,  we  must  use  the  lash, 
which  I'd  be  sorry  to  do.  But  I  see  by  your  face  it'll 
never  come  to  that  between  us.  Let  your  uncle  say  as 
he  will,  I  don't  find  you  half  so  black  as  he  pa i-  ted  you. 
Come  along  now,  child  !  take  courage  I  as  the  song  says, 
*  Friends  are  always  near  !' 

**  These  last  words  of  my  new  master  touched  me.     I 
laid  hold  of  his  hard,  rough  hand,  and  pressed  it  warmly. 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


33 


He,  in  Ins  turn,  seemed  affected  j  but  unwilling  to  let  me 
see  it,  he  said  to  his  wife  : 

"  'Come,  Toinette,  give  us  our  dinner.  Show  Ernest 
how  to  set  the  table,  which  he  has  got  to  do  every  day, 
and  also  to  open  and  close  the  shop,  and  keep  the  floor 
clean.  You  have  to  see  to  the  workshop,  too,  my  boy,  as 
well  as  the  store  ;  that's  in  the  bargain.  The  customers 
must  always  find  the  furniture  polished  as  bright  as  the 
sun,  for  if  not  kept  in  that  way  it  doesn't  take  the  eye. 
Every  morning  you  must  fetch  a  supply  of  water  from 
the  fountain  and  sweep  the  sidewalk.  This,  you  see,  is 
the  drudgery  that  an  apprentice  has  to  go  through — bah  I 
I  had  my  turn  of  it.  When  one  gets  to  handle  the  tools 
well  all  that  is  over,  to  be  sure.  Then,  all  you've  got  to 
do  is  to  distinguish  yourself  as  soon  as  possible  at  the 
bench — there,  like  everywhere  else,  there  is  credit  to  be 
gained.  For  the  rest,^  said  he,  '  it  is  now  Saturday, — 
until  Monday  you  will  have  nothing  to  do  but  bring  in 
the  water,  do  the  sweeping,  close  the  store  to-night,  and 
such  little  jobs.  But  when  Monday  comes,  you  must 
take  the  jack-plane  in  your  hand,  and  let  us  see  what  you 
caii  do.' 

"If  my  heart  was  uplifted  for  a  moment  when  I 
thought  I  perceived  a  touch  of  sympathy  in  Simonnin's 
rough  face,  the  sense  of  my  misfortune  weighed  me  down 
more  heavily  than  ever  as  I  listened  to  this  enumeration 
ot  my  duties.  I  knew,  nevertheless,  that,  with  a  man 
like  him,  reasoning  or  objectiiig  would  only  make  matters 
worse.  And,  besides,  had  not  Mr.  de  Yerval  declared 
that  my  father  gave  his  consent  to  this  rigorous  appren- 


II 


-■hi: 

rl 


84 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


i 


ticeship?  The  best  thing  I  couUl  do,  then,  wns  to  sub- 
mit, and  endeavor  to  gain  the  good  will  of  my  patron  by 
my  dociUty  and  close  assiduity. 

"  These  reflections  lucliily  occurred  to  me  in  the  midst 
of  my  grief ;  they  gave  me  strengtli  to  control  myself  so 
far  that  Simonnin  thought  he  had  overcome  my  repug- 
nance, and  from  that  moment  I  made  such  rapid  strides 
in  his  favor  that  when  evening  came  he  offered  to  take  me 
with  him  to  the  tavern. 

" '  Let  the  boy  alone  !'  said  his  good  wife,  who  saw  my 
embarrassment  at  this  proposal,  '  teach  him  to  work,  not 
to  drink  :  he  can  get  along  very  well  without  that. 
Besides,  I  want  him — he  must  stay  here.^ 

*"  Well,  good  woman,  have  it  your  own  way,'  said 
Simonnin,  '  I'm  content.  You  have  full  power  here,  you 
know,  and  it's  the  least  you  may  have  the  apprentice  to 
help  you  in  the  house.  Good-bye,  then,  old  woman  I — 
I'll  be  home  at  ten — good-bye,  youngster  I  Go  to  bed  at 
nine,  if  Ma'am  Simonnin  gives  you  leave  !' 

"When  he  was  gone,  I  thanked  his  good  wife,  who 
with  great  sweetness  and  good  sense  proceeded  to  give  me 
advice  as  to  my  future  conduct.  She  then  conducted  me 
to  a  very  small  but  clean  room  on  the  fifth  story,  with  a 
pretty  large  window.  Here  I  found  my  desk  and  trunk. 
When  I  was  alone,  I  opened  them,  I  looked  at  my  books 
and  copy-books  which  Mr.  do  A^erval  had  not  taken  with 
my  college  dress,  and  Ine  sobs  which  I  had  hitherto 
repressed  broke  forth  then  unrestrained. 

"Oh  I  my  children,"  continued  Mr.  d'Olbar,  *' you  can 
hardly  undei  stand  the  agony  of  regret  which  then  tor- 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


85 


turcd  my  soul.  But  yet  I  see  you  do  not  sympathise 
with  the  poignant  grief  with  which  I  the  ^ht  of  my 
father,  whose  hopes  I  had  destroyed.  When  we  were 
parting,  he  said  to  me  : 

"  *  Ernest,  I  depend  on  you.  The  studies  which  you 
are  to  complete  in  Paris  will  obtain  you  admission  to  a 
military  school,  whence  you  shall  come  out  with  epau- 
lettes on  your  shoulders.  When  I  see  that  sight,  all  my 
woes  shall  be  forgotten.  Go,  then,  and  may  the  Lord 
bless  you  I' 

"  Yes,  these  were  the  words  of  that  good  father  ;  and 
I,  wretch  that  I  was  1  had  forgotten  them  !  Yielding  to 
shameful  sloth  and  idleness,  and  to  bad  advice,  I  had  lost 
the  protection  of  the  only  relative  who  could  at  all  assist 
me,  and  /  was  consequently  reduced  to  a  state  of  manual 
labor. 

"Overpowered  by  these  late  reflections,  I  was  sadly 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  my  books,  when  suddenly  a 
thought  struck  me.  Ma'am  Simonriin  had  told  me  that  my 
day's  work  in  her  house  was  only  to  commence  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  ended  at  eight  in  the  evening,  except  the 
closing  of  the  store,  which  had  to  be  done  after  that. 
Much  time  must  then  remain  to  me  ;  I  might  profit  by  it 
to  study  my  authors,  to  practice  Arithmetic  and  its 
kindred  sciences,  for  which  my  first  master  said  I  had 
much  talent.  By  myself,  of  course,  I  could  make  little 
progress,  but  that  should  not  prevent  me  from  trying  my 
hand  ;  Providence,  perhaps,  would  come  to  my  aid,  for  it 
seemed  to  me  as  though  this  sudden  inspiration  came 
from  above  ;  I  felt  it  deep  within  my  soul,  and  I  thanked 


'  %':' 


74" 


t^iU 


m 


"w. 


V\! 


')? 


i'H 


36 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


God  for  it  so  fervently,  that  I  lay  down  to  sleep  with  a 
lighter  heart. 

"  Next  morning  I  was  up  before  five  o'clock.  The 
day  was  beginning  to  dawn.  I  said  my  prayers,  and,  as 
on  the  previous  night,  I  felt  that  a  great  change  had 
been  wrought  in  me.  Then  I  resolved  to  write  to  my 
parents.  1  fell  on  my  knees,  as  though  I  were  really  in 
their  presence  ;  I  earnestly  besought  their  forgiveness, 
and  promised  to  deserve  it  by  my  future  conduct. 

"  When  I  went  down  stairs,  Ma'am  Simonnin  received 
me  with  the  same  kindness.  I  showed  her  my  letter,  not 
yet  sealed  ;  she  read  it  with  attention,  and  giving  it 
back,  said  to  me  with  tears  in  her  eyes  : 

"  '  Poor  lad  I  be  faithful  this  time  to  the  promises  you 
have  made  your  parents  ;  it  is  the  only  consolation  you 
can  now  give  them  1' 

"At  this  moment  the  master  appeared.  Showing  me 
the  strap  and  the  buckle  he  said  :  *  There,  boy,  take  hold 
of  that.  Be  off  to  the  fountain  like  a  good  fellow.  That'll 
stretch  your  limbs  for  you,  and  then  here  are  your  two 
sous — as  you  pass  the  grocer's,  you  can  buy  butter  or 
cheese  for  them,  or  anything  you  like.' 

"  I  obeyed,  but  1  did  my  errand  so  quickly^  that  on 
seeing  me  come  back  dragging  the  two  large  buckets  of 
water,  the  worthy  man  cried  out  gaily  : 

'''Why,  what  a  smart  fellow  you  are!  one  would 
think  you  had  always  been  at  that  business.  Come,  (this 
was  a  favorite  word  of  his,)  when  I  want  to  carry  the 
hand-barrow  I  know  now  who'll  help  me.' 

*"I  will   and  welcome,   my    good    Mr.   Simonnin, 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE    DOUBLE   LESi.     V. 


8t 


I  replied,  smiling ;  '  you  see  I  can  take  my  share  of  a 
load  any  time.' 

"  1  then  opened  the  shop  and  went  to  breakfast.  Dur- 
ing that  meal  a  bright  idea  struck  me.  Being  res  ived 
to  work  every  evening  in  my  chamljer,  I  required  light,  so 
as  not  to  use  the  lamp  which  belonged  to  my  master.  I, 
therefore,  made  up  my  mind  to  eat  my  bread  dry  every 
morning,  and  to  keep  my  sous  for  the  purclu-se  of  candles 
and  paper,  too,  when  the  little  stock  in  my  desk  was  "un 
out.  Tills  resolution  completed  my  arrangements  for 
study.  The  taste  for  it  came  to  me  very  late,  children, 
as  you  may  well  say,  but  the  imprisonment  which  I 
underwent  in  the  college,  and  still  more,  the  severity  of 
Mr.  de  Verval,  had  fully  opened  my  eyes  ;  I  resolved,  at 
any  cost,  to  repair  my  faults,  and  that  praiseworthy  ob- 
ject became  the  sole  end  of  my  life. 

"  I  understood  very  well  that  the  prosecution  of  my 
studies  ought  not  in  any  way  to  interfere  with  the 
duties  of  my  state  :  it  was  my  intention  to  apply  myself 
couscientiously  to  discharge  them  to  the  best  of  my 
ability. 

"That  very  day,  I  had  the  good  fortune  *o  make  a 
grand  step  in  my  new  master's  favor.  This  man, whom  I, 
at  first,  thought  so  rough,  on  account  of  his  threats,  had 
a  heart  full  of  the  kindliest  feelings,  and  was,  moreover, 
an  upright,  honest  man,  all  of  which  I  discovered  pretty 
soon. 

"  It  was  generally  on  Sunday  that  he  and  his  wife 
settled  their  accounts.  Accordingly,  when  I  entered  the 
back  shop  that  morning  after  breakfast,  I  saw  them  both 


I 


■if); 


I|3 


m 


1 


ttj 


■J] 
til* 


38 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE    DOUBLE    LESSON. 


sorely  puzzled  making  out  some  accounts,  and  I  took  it 
upon  me  to  offer  my  services.  Toinettc  immediately  gave 
me  her  place,  and  when  Simounin  saw  mo  at  work  he  joy. 
fully  exclaimed: 

"'My  fuith,  boy,  if  you  handle  the  tools  as  you  do  the 
pen,  I  prophesy  that  you'll  be  one  of  the  best  workmen 
in  St.  Antoine's  suburbs.  Why  that  uncle  of  yours  didn't 
know  what  he  was  talking  about,  with  his  scolding  and 
grumbling  I  I  think  you  must  have  worked  pretty  hard, 
after  all,  to  know  as  much  as  you  do  at  fifteen!^ 

"  This  reminds  me  of  the  old  proverb:  '  In  the  kingdom 
of  the  blind,  the  lame  are  kings/  Simonnin  thought  me 
well  instructed,  because  his  knowledge  was  much  exceeded 
by  mine,  and  that  alone  made  him  suppose  that  I  had 
made  good  use  of  my  time.  But  I  could  not  allow  him 
to  remain  in  error,  or  accept  a  compliment  so  little  de- 
served, especially  as  it  conveyed  a  slur  on  my  uncle's 
veracitv.  Inflexible  as  the  latter  had  shown  himself 
towards  me,  it  would  have  been  ungrateful  in  me  either 
to  deny,  or  let  any  one  else  doubt  his  generous  intentions, 
which  I  had  abused  for  a  whole  year.  So,  without  any 
hesitation,  I  confessed  all  to  Simonnin,  not  even  forget- 
ting the  pain  which  my  bad  conduct  had  inflicted  on  my 
parents.  At  this  part  of  my  story,  my  broken  voice  be- 
trayed the  depth  of  my  own  sorrow.  I  even  ventured  to 
confide  to  him  my  plan  of  study,  entreating  him  not  to 
throw  any  obstacle  in  my  way  inasmuch  as  it  should  not 
infringe  on  my  duty  towards  him;  at  the  same  time  I 
requested  him  beforehand  to  keep  my  secret.  He  listened 
attentively  and  in  silence,  but  I  saw  by  his  face  that  he 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


was  pleased.     WIumi  I  liad  told  all,  ho  shook  me  warmly 
by  the  hand,  and  said: 

"  'All  ri«'ht,  my  lad.  rcrsevere  in  your  good  resolu- 
tions, and  God  will  befriend  you.  After  to-day,  you'li 
find  a  friend  in  your  master,  always  ready  to  help  you  to 
the  best  of  his  power.  As  a  beginning,  you  shall  have 
an  hour  more  every  day  for  your  studies;  you  can  go  up 
to  your  room  every  evening  at  seven  o'clock,  instead  of 
eight,  and  if  you  continue  to  please  me  as  well  as  you  do 
now,  we  shall  see  if  we  cannot  push  you  on  a  bit  towards 
the  end  proposed  by  your  father.'  •» 

"  Hearing  this,  I  threw  myself  into  the  worthy  trades- 
man's arais;  he  held  me  there  a  moment  in  silence,  then  * 
resumed: 

"'Come,  come,  ion't  give  way  like  that.  It's  foolish, 
you  know.  Come!  Toinette  tells  me  you  have  a  letter 
to  send  off  to-day  to  your  people,  so  we'll  go  and  post  it, 
and  after  that,  we'll  go  through  the  city  a  little,  for  I 
know  you  haven't  seen  much  of  it  yet.' 

"  Here  his  wife  gave  him  a  look  which  he  appeared  to 
understand,  for  he  immediately  added  with  a  smile: 

'"Be  easy,  dame,  there  will  be  no  glass  for  this  morn- 


ing. 


I  see  now  that  this  good  lad  needs  all  the  brains 


he  has  got  to  bring  his  bark  safe  to  shore,  and,  indeed,  it 
won't  be  my  fault  if  he  gets  stranded  on  the  shoal  of  the 
tavern.' 

"  We  then  went  out.  I  was  light  as  a  bird:  the  frank 
avowal  of  my  misdeeds,  the  generous  encouragement 
given  by  Simonnin  to  my  proposed  plan,  and  ray  firm 
resolution  to  merit  the  esteem  of  so  good  a  master,  all 


i 

'it! 


II 


\.t. 


k 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 

coucurred  to  lighten  my  grief.  My  working  jaclcot  no 
longer  appeared  ugly;  it  was  much  handsomer  since  I 
determined  to  wear  it  with  honor.  So  I  stept  after  the 
cabinet-maker  with  great  alacrity.  Much  more  obliging 
than  my  former  guide — notwithstanding  his  natural  quick- 
ness of  temper — he  permitted  me  to  examine  at  my  leisure 
the  diflerent  objects  of  interest  which  I  saw  on  my  way. 
Many  of  the  choicest  works  of  art  still  bore  the  dismal 
traces  of  revolutionary  fury,  for  the  tempest  which  had 
convulsed  the  entire  country  had  but  just  passed  away. 
I  addressed  some  questions  to  Simonnin  on  this  subject, 
and  his  replies  were  marked  with  such  justice  and  good 
sense,  that  I  was  both  pleased  and  surprised.  The  fact 
is,  that  when  the  workingman's  ideas  are  not  perverted 
by  false  doctrines,  they  are  generally  distinguished  by 
sound  judgment,  with  a  just  appreciation  of  men  and 
things.  I  am  too  much  indebted  to  this  faculty  of  my 
excellent  master  not  to  pay  a  just  tribute  to  the  virtues 
of  the  class  to  which  he  belongs. 

"  We  did  not  reach  home  till  six  o^clock  in  the  evening. 
The  good  woman  was  at  first  a  little  put  out,  for  the 
dinner  was  cold,  and  so  forth  ;  but  Simonnin  gave  such 
a  droll  account  of  my  raptures  on  seeing  the  sights  of  the 
great  city,  that  she  laughed  heartily  herself,  and  the 
anger  was  all  gone. 

"  From  that  day  forward,  I  was  really  treated  by  this 
worthy  couple  as  if  I  were  their  own  son.  They  had  no 
children,  which  was  doubtless  an  additional  reason  why 
they  took  such  an  interest  in  me — an  interest  which,  to 
Bay  the  truth,  I  did  my  best  to  merit  by  close  attention 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


41 


and  perfect  docility.  Nevertheless,  my  life  at  Simonnin's 
was  not  /exempt  from  trouble.  The  work  given  me  to 
do  very  often  exceeded  my  strength,  for  on  certain  days 
the  housework  was  much  heavier,  and  in  the  intervals  I 
had  to  work  unceasingly  either  at  the  bench,  or  varnish- 
ing and  polishing  furniture  brought  in  by  out-door  hands. 
When  at  work  the  sweat  often  stood  in  large  drops  on 
my  brow,  and  there  were  times  when  I  could  hardly 
stand  from  fatigue — but  still  I  should  go  on — there  was 
no  rest  or  relaxation  during  the  hours  of  labor.  In  this 
respect,  Mr.  Simonnin  was  unmerciful  ;  ceaseless  toil 
could  alone  keep  him  in  humor.  So  it  was  that  when  I 
ascended  to  my  chamber  at  night,  I  found  it  hard  to  take 
up  my  books;  the  pen  fell  from  my  hacked  and  trembling 
fingers.  Then  I  invoked  God's  assistance,  thought  of 
my  dear  father  and  mother,  and  got  courage  to  go  on. 

'*  Yes,  children,  I  have  found  from  experience  that 
with  faith,  good-will  and  filial  affection,  one  can  overcome 
many  obstacles  which  laziness  alone  sets  down  as  hivinci- 
ble;  my  apprenticeship  to  the  cabinet-making,  progressing 
side  by  side  with  my  studies,  should  serve  to  convince  you 
that,  with  God's  assistance,  man  has  many  resources 
within  himself.  "   - 

"In  the  commencement  of  this  double  enterprise,  my 
progress,  indeed,  was  hardly  perceptible;  I  barely  kept 
myself  from  forgetting  the  authors  studied  during  my 
brief  career  in  the  college.  Neither  did  I  gain  much 
ground  in  mathematics,  for  which  I  had  a  particular 
taste.  In  vain  did  I  grow  pale  over  my  Bezout,  an 
author  then  followed  in  military  schools,  and  which  I  had 


42 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


^m 


■ .) 


J 


< 


I  ' 


commenced  with  my  first  teacher.  I  did  not  then  under- 
stand that  learned  work,  although  I  confined  myself  to 
the  elementary  part,  and  my  tears  often  fell  on  the  page 
before  me.  Completely  discouraged,  I  would  give  up, 
and  put  away  the  book;  then  taking  hold  of  it  again,  I 
would  say  :  '  This  will  never  do  ;  God,  who  has  inspired 
me  to  this,  will,  perhaps,  guide  my  understanding;  and 
all  at  once  the  problem  was  made  clear  to  me,  and  I 
ended  with  being  surprised  at  myself  for  fancying  it 
difficult.^ 

**  Yet  all  this  did  not  profit  me  much  in  the  way  of 
progress.  I  knew  very  well  that  without  a  teacher  I 
could  never  obtain  the  instruction  necessary  to  carry  out 
my  father's  views,  and  enable  me  to  undergo  an  exami- 
nation; but,  at  the  end  of  three  months,  the  worthy 
Simonnin,  knowing  my  secret  hopes  and  projects,  gave 
me  no  small  encouragement. 

"  'Work  away,  my  boy!'  he  said  to  me  one  evening 
when  he  ascended  to  my  garret  to  look  at  my  writing 
books,  '  work  away,  and  all  will  go  well.  You  have  per- 
severance, I  see  plainly.  I  am  well  pleased  with  you  in 
every  way,  and  have  made  you  my  book-keeper,  much  to 
my  own  advantage.  On  the  other  hand,  you  are  atten- 
tive to  your  work,  and  are  never  afraid  of  trouble,  and, 
on  my  word,  you  make  such  a  good  offer  already  at  the 
plane  that  I  don't  say  but  you'll  be  able  in  a  few  months 
from  now  to  earn  some  small  matter  for  yourself.  It's 
true  I  didn't  bargain  with  the  other  for  that,  (this  was  his 
usual  mode  of  referring  to  my  uncle) ;  but  no  matter,  the 
honest  man  never  lets  his  own  interest  go  between  him 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


43 


and  justice.  Now,  when  your  first  year  is  up,  and  maybe 
sooner,  if  business  stirs  up,  I  mean  to  give  you  a  little 
acknowledgment  every  month  which  will  enable  you  to 
have  a  master.  Poor  fellow  I  if  I  was  a  little  better  oft 
than  I  am,  I'd  do  more  than  that  for  you:  in  place  of 
keeping  you  working  here,  I'd  have  sent  you  back  to  col- 
lege, partly  to  console  your  parents,  and  partly  to  spite 
that  hard-hearted  nnole  of  yours  whom  I  have  been  trying 
hard  to  soften  a  bit  by  praising  up  your  obedience  and 
assiduity,  though  I  took  good  care  to  keep  him  in  the 
dark  about  your  studies.' 

"  You  may  imagine,  children,  how  fervently  I  thanked 
the  worthy  Simonnin,  whose  promise  gave  a  new  impetus 
to  ray  courage.  Nevertheless,  there  was  one  great  draw- 
back to  my  happiness.  It  is  true,  I  must  avail  myself  of 
the  good  man's  generous  proposal,  if  nothing  better 
turned  up,  but  he  was  doing  what  he  was  not  bound 
to  do,  and  it  might  be,  more  also  than  he  was  able  to 
do.  This  thought  gave  me  great  concern,  but  Provi- 
dence, ever  kind,  came  to  my  assistance  when  and  how 
I  least  expected,  and  made  Simonnin's  kind  sacrifice 
unnecessary. 

"One  morning,  when  I  had  helped  my  master  to 
take  home  several  articles  of  furniture  to  a  fine  house 
on  Isle  St.  Louis,  not  far  from  our  place,  I  was  left 
by  Simonnin  to  give  the  last  polish  to  the  furniture. 
When  going  away,  he  told  me,  as  usual,  to  be  quick 
with  my  work,  so,  taking  oif  my  jacket,  so  as  to  work 
more  at  my  ease,  I  went  down  on  my  knees  before 
each  piece  of  furniture,  and  rubbed  away  so  hard  that 


m 


I 


'Mr 


m  ;  i 


44 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


in  a  little  while  my  shirt  and  vest  were  wet  with  per- 
spiration. .  ,  • 

"  'Poor  lad!*  said  some  one  passing  behind  me,  'don't 
work  so  hard ;  that  is  violent  exercise,  and  the  weather 
is  excessively  warm/ 

"  I  turned  quickly,  for  the  voice  had  reached  my  heart; 
recognizing  at  once  the  person  to  whom  it  belonged,  I 
uttered  a  piercing  cry  and  fell  to  the  ground.  It  was 
Deville,  the  excellent  friend  whose  advice  I  had  fatally 
neglected,  and  before  whom  I  now  had  to  blush  with 
shame. 

"  He  did  not  at  once  recognize  me,  but  on  hearing  that 
cry  of  anguish,  and  seeing  that  strange  posture  I  had, 
from  shame,  assumed,  he  ran  to  me,  raised  my  head,  saw 
ray  downcast  face,  and  cried  in  his  turn: 

"  '  Ernest  d'Olbar  I  is  it  possible?' 

"Then  only  did  I  venture  to  arise;  he  took  me  in  his 
arms,  and  pressed  me  to  his  bosom,  while  I,  choking  with 
emotion,  could  hardly  utter  a  word.  ,  .< 

*'  0,  my  children!  what  a  treasnre  of  goodness  lies  hid. 
den  in  the  heart  of  the  virtuous  man  when  God  inspir-s 
his  actions!  I  had  hardly  made  known  to  Mr.  Deville 
the  extent  of  my  faults,  and  the  efforts  I  was  makuig 
to  repair  them,  when  pressing  me  again  in  his  arms,  he 
said:      _  •     .  .-  ,  .  .  .•       -    , 

" '  Dear  Ernest !  I  now  see  you,  then,  what  I  long 
wished  to  see  you!  Oh!  do  not  regret  the  hardship 
which,  young  as  you  are,  you  have  undergone:  besides 
that,  it  serves  as  expiation,  it  is  by  it  that  your  soul  is 
tempered,  that  you  have  acquired  a  sense  of  duty,  and 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


45 


per- 

ion't 
ther 

cai't*, 
od,  I 
u  was 
itally 
with 

r  that 
'.  had, 
I,  saw 


m  his 
with 

s  hid. 
ispiv's 
)eYille 

jakiiig 
s,  he 

long 

[rdship 

)esides 

I  soul  is 

ly,  and 


found  the  holy  inspirations  which  will  henceforward  guide 
you  in  the  path  of  rectitude.  Adversity  and  labor,  my 
young  friend,  are  the  two  crucibles  wherein  virtue  purifies 
her  chosen  souls.     Have  courage,  then  I 

"  *  As  to  your  scientific  studies,'  pursued  he  with  an 
indescribable  smile,  *we  shall  be  two  now  to  prosecute 
them,  and  I  should  be  much  disappointed  if,  in  three 
years,  you  are  not  fit  to  pass  your  examination  for  admis- 
sion to  the  Polytechnic  School.  During  that  time  you 
can  also  learn  your  trade,  and  make  sure  of  being  no 
burden  to  your  friend,  the  cabinet-maker.  The  little 
donation  which  he  promised  to  give  you  shall  then  be  the 
reward  of  your  labors;  you  will  accept  it;  and  those  little 
savings,  carefully  kept  together,  will  defray  your  first  ex- 
penses at  the  school.  During  those  three  years,  I,  too, 
will  be  lay  laying  up  something  for  a  little  fund  to  meet 
your  expenses  at  a  later  period.  Do  not  interrupt  me,' 
he  went  on,  seeing  by  my  face  the  emotions  of  my  soul, 
'  hear  me  to  the  end :' 

"  *  I  felt  an  unaccountable  interest  in  you  from  your 
first  entrance  into  the  college:  ever  after  I  desired  to 
gain  your  affections,  and  direct  your  conduct,  iu  order  to 

* 

lead  you  to  good;  but  unhappily  I  could  not  be  much 
with  you.  Your  faults  and  our  separation  grieved  me 
much.  I  regretted  that  I  could  not  snatch  you  from 
your  perilous  condition.  Often,  my  dear  Ernest,  did  I 
beseech  the  Lord  to  restore  you  to  a  sentiment  of  duty, 
and  now  that  I  find  you  penetrated  with  that  sentiment, , 
I  am  too  happy  not  to  regard  you  henceforward  as  a 
brother  confided  to  my  care  by  Divine  Providence.     I  am 


I 


!■  ':v. 
It 


1  *¥•*« 


.m 


46 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


alone  in  the  world.  Frou  my  childhood  I  have  been  de- 
prived of  the  sweets  of  family  allection,  I  will  try  to 
renew  them  by  adopting  you.'     .•.>.;     <       -    : 

During  this  discourse,  the  eyes  of  the  noble  fellow  were 
fixed  on  mine.  With  clasped  hands  we  stood  regarding 
each  other,  he  with  the  tender  solicitude  of  a  father,  I 
with  the  gratitude  of  a  respectful  son.  I  burst  into  tears, 
and  couid  hardly  get  out  a  few  words  of  joy  and  gratitude. 
^  "That  moment,  children,  was,  perhaps,  one  of  the 
happiest  of  my  hfe,  for  I  had  just  acquired  a  friend,  that 
is  to  say,  the  most  precious  treasure  that  man  can  have 
on  earth,  and  which  he  rarely  ever  finds.  Young  as  I 
was,  I  felt  the  value  of  such  a  blessing,  and  Deville  must 
have  been  hardly  less  delighted  to  witness  the  transports 
of  my  joy.  .       .-,  ; 

"At  length,  w^e  both  recovered  our  composure.  My 
friend  told  me  that  he  had  fallen  in  with  an  excellent 
family,  from  whom  he  thought  he  could  easily  obtain  per- 
mission to  devote  two  or  three  hours  every  evening  to  me: 
it  was  just  the  time  when  he  left  his  pupil  in  the  drawing- 
room.  There  would  then  be  nothing  to  prevent  him 
from  carrying  out  his  genetous  intention  of  giving  me 
regular  lessons. 

''When  I  was  leaving,  Deville  promised  to  see  me 
that  same  evening,  and  you  may  imagine  how  joyfully  1 
hastened  to  relate  all  to  the  w^ortliy  Simonnins.  If  I  liad 
before  doubted  their  affection  for  me,  I  would  have  had 
that  day  a  convincing  proof  of  it ;  for  they  were  almost 
as  rejoiced  to  hear  of  my  good  fortune  as  if  it  had  con- 
cerned their  own  child.  .         .  ..' 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


47 


**  I  need  not  tell  you  with  what  alacrity  I  went  to  work 
planing  my  planks.  I  no  longer  felt  fatigue,  antl  the 
heat  of  the  day  troubled  me  no  more.  It  seems  that 
happiness  gives  strength  an  hundred  fold:  before  it  all 
diiliculties  vanish  ;  all  becomes  light  and  easy  ;  it  sees 
objects  through  the  prism  of  its  own  contentment. 

"  These  dispositions  I  also  brought  with  me  to  my 
evening  studies.  AVhen  I  heard  my  beloved  preceptor 
mounting  the  ladder  like  stairs  leading  to  my  garret — 
when  I  had  insialled  him  by  my  side,  in  front  of  my 
little  table,  whereon  my  books  were  carefully  ranged,  I 
opened  my  Bezout  with  entire  confidence,  just  as  though 
I  were  able  to  explain  its  pages  from  beginning  to  end 
without  missing  a  word  ;  doubtless  Deville  must  have 
been  amused  at  my  assurance. 

'*  However,  he  appeared  well  satisfied,  not  with  my 
progress,  (you  know  it  could  not  have  been  much,)  but 
with  the  application  which  had  carried  me  through  a 
fresh  study  of  my  several  avthors.  From  that  moment, 
he  confidently  predicted  the  success  of  our  projects. 

"  Soothed  that  night  by  the  sweetest  dreams,  I  found 
myself  at  my  father's  feet  in  the  so-much  desired  uni- 
form. That  beloved  father  blessed  and  praised  me  ; 
my  mother  and  sisters   pressed  me  by  turns  to  their 

heart Oh  I    how  I  begged  of  God,  on 

awaking,  that  a  dream  so  delightful  might  one  day  be 
realized,  and  with  what  ardor  the  very  thought  inspired 
me  for  the  accomplishment  of  my  duties! 

"But  there  is  no  need  to  dwell  on  those  first  days  of 
my  recovered  happiness.    You  can  easily  imagine  me  in 


m 


I' 


MS 


'■\m 


m 


,   I 


48 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE    DOUBLE    LESSON. 


my  garret-room,  where,  every  evening,  for  three  wliolc 
years,  the  best  of  friends  shut  himself  up  with  me,  endur- 
ing, without  a  murmur,  the  heat  of  the  roof  in  summer 
and  the  rigorous  cold  in  winter.  During  our  last  season, 
a  frosty  wind  made  the  weather  still  more  inclement  for 
a  great  part  of  the  time,  so  that  our  fingers  were  often 
numb  with  the  cold.  Deville  would  laugh  and  throw  a 
quilt  over  my  shoulders,  then,  wrapping  himself  up  in  his 
cloak,  he  would  cheerfully  resume  the  rapid  series  of  in- 
struction which  he  gave  mo  in  the  sciences.  Each  step  I 
made  in  advance  gave  him  so  much  pleasure  that  his 
countenance  was  constantly  beaming  with  joy  during  those 
long  studious  evenings. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  Simonnin  had  succeeded  in  making 
me  a  good  workman.  For  some  time  past  I  could  receive 
what  he  chose  to  give  me  without  fear  of  abusing  his 
kindness.  My  savings  at  length  enabled  me  to  dress  in  a 
more  becoming  manner. 

"  I  had  attained  my  eighteenth  year,  and  Deville  was 
of  opinion  that  I  might  safely  present  myself  for  the  school 
examination.  At  that  period  the  diploma  of  bachelor 
was  not  required,  but  even  if  it  had  been,  I  would  not 
have  shrank  from  trying  to  obtain  it.  I  ordered  the  fine 
black  coat,  and  I  own  my  heart  beat  when  I  tried  it  on; 
it  seemed  to  me  that  with  it  I  could  mount  again  some 
steps  of  the  social  ladder,  whence  my  own  idleness  and 
my  uncle's  severity  had  brought  me  down. 

"  During  my  apprenticeship,  I  had  written  several 
letters  to  my  uncle  imploring  forgiveness,  but  he  remained 
inflexible,  and  had  even  renewed  his  prohibition,  through 


m    ,' 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


49 


Simonnin,  to  appear  before  him.  I  had,  therefore,  no 
warrant  to  apply  to  him  on  this  momentous  occasion, 
the  most  important  ui  my  life,  since  it  was  to  decide  my 
destiny. 

"The  thought  was  painful  to  me,  not  because  I  had 
any  idea  of  soliciting  Mr.  Yerval's  pecuniary  assistance  if 
1  succeeded  in  obtaining  admission  :  Deville's  generous 
friendship  left  me  quite  easy  on  that  point,  and  I  felt  a. 
pleasure  in  owing  all  to  him;  no,  but  my  mother's  brother 
had  also  some  claims  on  my  gratitude,  rigorous  as  they 
were,  and  I  would  have  wished,  at  least,  to  obtain  his 
approval.  That  w^as  not  to  be  thought  of,  however,  so  I 
must  only  to  do  without  it.  Had  I  not,  moreover,  the 
sanction  of  my  father's  will  ?  y  ' 

"  One  morning,  then,  leaving  my  working-clothes  be- 
hind in  my  room,  I  went  down  stairs  a  gentleman,  as 
worthy  Simonnin  said,  I  found  him  in  his  Sunday  clothes 
in  the  back  shop  waiting  for  me,  with  an  emotion  almost 
equal  to  my  own. 

"  Toinette  gave  me  my  breakfast,  and  nothing  would 
serve  me  but  she  must  wait  on  me,  too,  that  day!  *  Dear 
Ernest,'  said  she,  *  I'll  be  very  sorry,  I'm  sure,  when  you 
come  to  leave  us.  But  no  matter  for  that,  I  will  pray  to 
God  all  the  time  you're  below,  to  give  you  a  good  chance. 
Poor  boy!  you  deserve  to  succeed,  and  it's  your  happiness 
we  ought  to  study  first  of  all' 

"These  words  touched  me  deeply,  but  I  had  not  time 

to  express  what  I  felt,  for  Deville  just  then  arrived, 

radiant  with  joy;  he  appeared  so  perfectly  sure  of  my 

success,  that  at  last  I  began  to  share  his  confidence,  and 

8 


m 

I 
m 

I 

ml 

I 


m 


i 


"^m 


I  r 


L     t 
! 


50 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


ill;'.. 


it    ' 


my  spirits  rose  accordingly.  I  was  nevertheless  much 
disturbed  when  leaving  the  house  with  my  two  friends, 
who  were  both  anxious  to  witness  my  examination. 
When  they  left  me  to  take  their  places  amongst  the 
audience,  I  trembled  like  an  aspen  leaf,  and  little  would 
have  tempted  me  to  make  my  escape  before  the  examina- 
tion commenced.  The  remembrance  of  my  father  it  was 
that  gave  me  courage  to  persevere;  I  breathed  an  in- 
ward prayer;  my  mind  grew  calm  and  collected,  and  I 
answered  with  so  much  clearness  and  precision  the  first 
questions  put  to  me  that  my  judges  smiled  encourage- 
ment. 

"  I  knew  not  then  that  they  were  in  possession  of  the 
manner  in  which  I  had  pursued  my  studies,  and  felt  inter- 
ested on  that  account  in  my  success.  Still  they  did  not 
spare  me  either  in  the  number  or  the  nature  of  their 
questions;  some  of  them  even  tried  me  with  questions  as 
difficult  as  they  were  altogether  unusual ;  it  seemed  as 
though,  being  well  assured  of  my  ability  to  answer,  they 
had  resolved  to  fix  on  me  the  general  attention.  Hap- 
pily, I  did  not  hesitate  in  my  answers,  and  I  was  pro- 
claimed the  second  best  of  the  competitors. 

'After  the  examination,  the  gentlemen  who  had  put 
me  through  such  a  rigorous  ordeal,  all  crowded  around 
the  poor  apprentice,  and  kindly  expressed  their  entire 
satisfaction.  You  may  be  sure  my  happiness  was  at  its 
height  at  that  moment. 

"  So  happy  was  I,  dear  children,  that  when  Deville  and 
Simonnin  came  to  me,  I  could  not  say  a  word  to  either;  I 
could  only  look  at  them  and  press  their  hands  alternately. 


IDLENESS  ;  OR,  THE  DOUBLE  LESSON. 


n 


f 


much 
riends, 
nation. 
rst  the 
1  would 
:amina- 
'  it  was 

an  in- 
,  and  I 
the  first 
jourage- 

i  of  the 
i\t  inter- 
did  not 
of  their 
stions  as 
emed  as 
rer,  they 
Ilap- 
vas  pro- 
had  put 
around 
r  entire 
s  at  its 

rille  and 
Either;  I 
jrnately. 


"  We  were  going  out  when  who  should  we  meet  but 
Mr.  de  S.,  colonel  of  engineers;  I  knew  him  very  well 
because  I  had  often  seen  him  in  Simonnin's  store.  He 
shook  hands  with  me,  and  congratulated  me  very  warmly, 
then  taking  me  with  my  companions  to  a  private  room, 
he  begged  us  to  wait  a  few  minutes.  When  he  returned, 
there  was  a  person  with  him;  I  uttered  a  cry:  it  was  my 
uncle!  He  had  secretly  witnessed  my  examination.  I 
would  have  thrown  myself  at  his  feet,  but  he  would  not 
suffer  me  to  do  so. 

" '  No,  no,  dear  Ernest,  you  are  welcome  now  to  my 
arms.  You  have  won  my  heart  by  your  courage  and 
perseverance:  if  I  know  how  to  punish,  I  also  know  how 
to  reward.  For  you,  sir,'  he  said,  *  turning  to  Deville, 
*  I  an;  much  and  deeply  indebted  to  you.  I  know  all, 
my  nephew  has  found  in  you  a  guardian  angel ;  to  you 
he  owes  his  science,  and  what  is  still  better  the  good  prin- 
ciples which  do  honor  to  him  and  you.  Henceforward,  I 
share  his  gratitude  to  you.'    « 

"Then  shaking  Simonnin  by  the  hand,  he  went  on 
smiling :  '  As  to  you,  my  worthy  Simonnin,  I  beg  you 
to  excuse  what  you  called  my  harshness.  In  placing 
Ernest  under  your  care,  I  knew  you  would  make  a 
man  of  him,  and  my  expectations  are  so  much  sur- 
passed that  I  must  say  I  do  not  regret  the  hard 
trial  he  has  undergone.  Try,  then,  as  we  are  all 
particularly  happy  just  now,  to  forgive  the  *^  hard- 
\karled  unde,^^  who  is  now  under  many  obligations  to 
your 
"  *  Humph  I  if  you  had  spoken  me  fair  about  the  lad 


m 


<tB 


:.i  111 

M 


I 


m 


:■!'  I 


I 


II 


.  ■  m 

J. if 

If 


52 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


m. , 


>  •• 


I  would  not  have  called  you  any  such  thnig,'  replied  the 
honest  tradosmuu  somewhat  tartly. 

"  'What  the  puck,  sir,  isn't  it  as  plain  as  my  hand 
that  Ernest  is  a  good  boy  and  a  brave  boy,  too?  I 
always  told  you  so,  but  what  vexed  me  was  that  you 
never  seemed  to  believe  me.  Well !  I  flatter  myself  he's 
a  first-rate  workman  now,  at  any  rate,  what  is  more  he 
has  a  power  of  learning,  it  seems.  I'll  warrant  me  he's 
a  credit  to  his  family,  anyhow.  If  they  don't  know  it, 
Mr.  de  Verval,  they're  not  worthy  of  him — that's  all  I 
have  got  to  say.' 

"So  saying,  my  former  master  looked  at  me  with  a 
most  exulting  air  ;  but  in  a  moment  his  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

"I  cannot  tell  you  how  I  felt  during  this  colloquy.  I 
was  at  that  moment  like  the  ship-wrecked  mariner  long- 
tossed  about  by  wind  and  wave,  and  thrown  at  last  on  a 
smiling  shore,  where  he  is  at  first  stunned  by  his  recent 
struggle  with  the  elements. 

**  Still  there  was  one  thought  uppermost  in  my  mind  : 
it  was  the  double  joy  of  my  father  and  mother  on  hearing 
of  my  success  and  Mr.  de  Verval's  pardon. 

"  It  was  no  part  of  the  latter's  character  to  give  way 
long  to  any  emotion,  so,  in  order  to  cut  the  matter  short, 
he  took  us  all  to  his  apartments,  where  an  excellent  din- 
ner awaited  us,  and  he  did  the  honors  to  our  entire 
satisfaction.  I  then  learned  that,  being  connected  with 
Colonel  de  S.,  he  learned  from  him  both  the  efl'orts  I  had 
been  making  for  three  whole  years  and  ray  projects  as 
regarded  the  examination.     All  this  had  been  secretly 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


53 


told  the  Colonel  by  my  good  friend  Toinette,  and  the 
Colonel  had  all  along  nsed  his  influence  in  my  fuvor  not 
only  with  my  uncle  but  the  gentlemen  who  examined  me. 
Aly  obligations  to  him  did  not  end  there :  his  genoroua 
patronage  followed  me  into  the  career  of  arms  and  con- 
tri))uted  nmch  to  my  success.  ^ 

'*  During  dinner  I  noticed  that  the  two  friends  obser  ^d 
me  narrowly,  and  hstened  attentively  to  the  little  I  did 
speak.  When  the  meal  was  over  my  uncle  again  took 
my  hand  and  said  : 

"  *  I  think,  Ernest,  you  will  have  no  objection  to  sleep 
one  night  more  iu  the  little  room  where  you  have  worked 
so  long  and  so  well  to  secure  your  future  prospects.  Go 
then,  to-night ;  but  to-moiTOw,  my  dear  nephew,  you 
must  take  possession  of  the  apartment  I  intend  for  you. 
By-and-bye,  when  you  get  on  the  school  costume,  you 
shall  go  home  to  spend  some  time  with  your  parents.  If 
Mr.  Deville  will  consent  to  be  your  companion  in  that 
journey,  my  post-chaise  is  at  your  service,  to  go  and 
come.     Each  will  thus  have  his  share  of  happiness.' 

"  This  language,  and  the  affectionate  tone  m  which  it 
was  uttered,  filled  my  heart  with  such  joy,  that  I  hardly 
dared  to  express  my  feelings,  unaccustomed  as  I  was 
to  address  my  uncle  otherwise  than  with  timid  respect. 

"  Mr.  de  Yerval  was  apparently  satisfied  with  the 
manner  in  which  I  testified  my  gratitude,  for  he  suffered 
me  to  kiss  his  hand  several  times,  and  I,  on  my  part,  was 
so  delighted  with  his  unexpected  goodness  that,  when  we 
returned  to  Simonnin's,  I  could  hardly  command  myself 
to  tell  Toinette  all  that  had   taken  place.     In  fact, 


'  ■  '1 
I 

u 

'Mi 


I 


.! 


J:i! 


9lt:f  , 


fefey.  \ 


54 


ii'';' 


I   < 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


Deville  was  at  last  obliged  to  undertake  that  office,  and 
when  he  came  to  Ma^am  Simonnin's  making  a  confidant 
of  the  colonel  in  relation  to  my  studies  : 

'"  Bah  !'  said  the  good  woman,  suddenly  breaking  in, 
*  if  I  let  him  into  the  secret,  I  knew  well  enough  what  I 
was  about.  I  saw  all  along  that  the  gentleman  took  an 
interest  in  our  dear  boy.  He  did  all  he  could  to  keep 
me  in  the  dark  about  the  uncle's  intentions,  but  I  was 
just  as  cute  as  he  was.  I  guessed  how  matters  stood, 
and  as  what  I  had  to  say  was,  after  all,  much  to  Ernest's 
credit,  I  ventured  to  open  my  budget  and  talk,  but  not 
for  talk's  sake,  you  see  I' 

"I  thanked  the  worthy  woman  again  and  again,  and 
when  we  came  to  separate  on  the  following  day,  both  she 
and  her  husband  made  me  promise  to  go  and  see  them 
every  week.  This  promise  I  faithfully  kept  as  long  as  I 
remained  at  the  school.  In  later  years,  when  fortune 
smiled  upon  me,  I  had  the  happiness  of  giving  them  more 
substantial  proofs  of  my  gratitude. 

"  So  now,  my  sons,  the  poor  apprentice  has  at  last  ex- 
changed his  plane  for  a  sword,  which  he  is  to  wear  for 
the  service  of  his  country.  He  is  on  his  way  to  his  native 
province.  You  may  guess  what  his  emotions  were  on 
visiting  again  that  paternal  roof  which  he  quitted  four 
years  before  with  such  a  heavy  heart. 

"  Deville,  perhaps  quite  as  much  affected  as  myself,  since 
he  was  tlie  author  of  so  much  happiness,  held  my  hand  in 
his.  Now  and  then  we  looked  at  each  other  without 
speaking,  and  yet  how  many  thoughts  were  expressed  in 
that  mute  language  ! 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


55 


"  Blandeck  is  already  passed,  and  my  heart  swells 
almost  to  bursting.  Suddenly  I  perceive  a  man  with  a 
load  of  brushwood  on  his  head  ;  headlong  I  rushed  from 
the  carriage  and  threw  myself  at  his  feet.  *  My  son  ! 
my  Ernest  !*  he  cries,  and  we  are  locked  in  each  other's 
arms,  surrounded  by  the  neighbors,  some  of  whom  ran 
to  apprise  my  mother  and  sisters.  They  run  and  we  are 
all  clasped  in  the  same  embrace.  The  crowd  thickens, 
every  one  is  anxious  to  greet  and  welcome  me.  We  are 
conducted  to  the  house  amid  joyful  acclamations,  and 
never  was  family  festival  more  complete  than  ours. 

"  Our  first  emotions  being  somewhat  calmed,  I  pre- 
sented Deville  to  my  father.  They  shook  each  other 
warmly  by  the  hand.  I  will  not  tell  you  what  words 
passed  between  them,  but  from  that  moment  they  were 
attached  friends. 

"  Next  morning,  by  the  dawn  of  day,  Deville  came 
and  woke  me.  Seating  himself  on  the  side  of  my  bed,  he 
said  :  '  Ernest,  do  you  love  me  V  ^ 

" '  Do  I  love  you  ! — why,  how  can  you  ask  such  a 
question?' 

" '  Simply  because,  if  you  do  you  will  permit  me  to  ad- 
vance now  a  portion  of  what  you  will  afterwards  appro- 
priate to  your  family !' 

"I  locked  at  him  in  silence,  not  knowing  what  he 
could  possibly  mean.     He  went  on  : 

" '  Hear  me,  Ernest.  In  three  years,  besides  my 
patrimony  which  I  have  not  touched,  I  have  saved  five 
thousand  francs  which  I  intended  for  you.  Your  uncle, 
taking  you  again  into  favor,  has  deprived  me  of  the 


!^ 


3i 

■•'H'>i 

m 


rf 

A. 

1*-.  ) 


1« 


,■1;  ■- 


,■1 


^<  ::i 


j'.ri,'- 

i!!  ■  , 

I 


56 


ii'W 


IDLENESS  ;  OR,  THE  DOUBLE  LESSON. 


pleasure  of  providing  for  your  school  expenses.  I  hoped 
to  be  your  support,  my  Ernest,  and  see  now  I  am  disap- 
pointed. Well,  I  have  been  thinking  that  you  would 
permit  me  to  offer  the  sum  I  have  mentioned  to  your 
excellent  father,  on  condition  that  he  will  adopt  me  as  a 
second  son,  and  condescend  to  receive  every  year  his 
share  of  my  salary.  Hereafter,  my  young  friend,  your 
turn  will  come ;  I  will  accept  your  gifts  then  as  you 
accept  mine  now;  that  will  be  a  solemn  contract  between 
us,  for  mind  I  do  not  understand  friendship  without  this 
reciprocity  of  devotion  and  confidence.^ 

"  *  0,  my  dear  Deville  !'  I  exclaimed,  '  for  me,  I  can 
receive  any  and  everything  from  you  ;  but  think  you  that 
my  father  can  accept  such  an  offer  V 

"'Wliat  is  the  matter  now?'  said  the  latter,  as  he 
entered  my  chamber.  Deville  then  repeated  to  him  what 
he  had  said  to  me,  adding  whatever  else  his  noble  heart 
could  suggest  in  order  to  make  the  offer  pleasing.  My 
father  listened  attentively,  then  remained  silent  and 
thoughtful.  I  feared  for  a  moment  that  he  was  going 
to  utter  a  refusal,  which  would  have  deeply  wounded  my 
friend  ;  this  was  not  the  case. 

** '  Well  I  I  accept  your  offer,'  said  he,  holding  out  his 
hand  to  Deville.  '  When  one  meets  a  man  like  you,  to  re- 
ject his  favors  is  a  mark  of  meanness,  and,  thank  Heaven  ! 
misfortune  has  not  brought  mo  to  that.  ^Now,  my  son,'  he 
continued,  addressing  me,  '  you  have  an  important  task  to 
fulfil,  for  you  will  be  the  pledge  of  my  debt  to  your  friehd  ; 
it  is  you  who  will  have  to  discharge  it,  and  I  have  too  good 
an  opinion  of  your  heart  to  fear  that  you  will  fail  us  V 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


51 


loped 
lisap- 
vould 
your 
)  as  a 
T  his 
,  your 
3  you 
tween 
,t  this 

I  can 
u  that 

as  he 

1  what 

heart 

My 

and 

going 

ed  my 


S 


^V 


"  To  tell  you  the  joy  of  Deville  on  hearing  these  words, 
would  be  impossible.  He  threw  himself  on  my  father's 
neck,  and  from  that  moment  I  really  believe  he  loved 
him  as  a  son  ;  he  had  found  a  family  instead  of  the  one 
he  had  lost,  and  no  longer  felt  himself  alone  in  the  world. 

"  Nevertheless,  the  time  came  all  too  quickly  when  we 
were  forced  to  leave  that  happy  circle.  Our  duties  called 
us  back  to  Paris,  and  we  resumed  our  journey  thither 
after  many  sad  farewells. 

**  Throwing  a  lust  look  over  these  smiling  scenes  which 
you  see  around  us,  Deville  sighed  deeply,  and  said  to  me  : 
*  Ernest,  let  this  beloved  spot,  this  calm  retreat  be  hence- 
forward our  place  of  meeting.  Every  year  we  will  come 
'ere  both  of  us  to  refresh  our  souls,  to  forget  the  noise 
and  tumultuous  cares  of  the  world ;  and,  hereafter,  when 
you  have  discharged  your  duty  to  your  country, when  you 
have  gained  fame  and  fortune,  we  shall  meet  here  to  part 
no  more.  This  plan  meets  your  approbation,  I  see;  well ! 
we  must  make  it  the  object  of  our  life,  and  labor,  each  in 
his  own  sphere,  to  bring  it  about.  Meanwhile,  my  young 
friend,'  he  continued,  after  a  moment's  thought,  *  should 
Providence  hereafter  provide  you  with  anything  better,  I 
would  not  have  this  project  hinder  you  from  embracing 
it ;  before  all  else  I  desire  your  happiness.' 

"  '  And  do  you  think  I  could  enjoy  it  without  you  ? 
0,  my  dear  Deville  I  we  shall  have  everything  in  common 
all  our  lives  I'  ^ 

" '  Well  1  be  it  so,'  he  replied,  '  and  may  the  Lord 
bless  you.' 

"  Now,  my  children,"  continued  Mr.  d'Olbar,  "  I  shall 


f 


Am 

I 


m 


>,,",■- 


:      I 


58 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


f, 


Ml 


■;    -S 


not  stop  to  describe  eitlier  my  stay  at  the  Polyteclinic 
School,  or  that  wliich  I  subsequently  made  at  the  School 
of  Metz.  I  will  only  tell  you  that  in  both  schools  I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  please  my  superiors,  and  that  I 
entered  as  lieutenant  in  the  corps  of  artillery,  where  good 
recommendations  were  before  me. 

"  When  sent  to  join  the  army,  I  endeavored  to  dis- 
tinguish myself  like  my  comrades.  I  obtained  the  cross, 
then  the  grade  of  captain.  We  were  then  at  a  period 
when  promotion  was  rapid  as  victory.  My  uncle,  too — 
whose  friendship  I  had  happily  retained — assisted  me 
through  his  friend,  Colonel  de  S. 

"  At  a  later  period,  when  I  was  promoted  to  the  rank 
of  lieutenant-colonel,  M.  de  Verval  obtained  leave  for  me 
to  spend  some  months  in  France.  During  that  time  I 
was  indebted  to  him  for  the  greatest  happiness  of  my 
life,  for  he  had  prepared  the  way  for  my  union  with  your 
mother,  and,  in  order  to  facilitate  that  auspicious  alliance, 
he  portioned  me  handsomely. 

"  It  was  then  that  I  could  realize,  at  least  in  part, 
the  cherished  wishes  of  my  heart.  I  purchased  this 
property  where  my  parents  and  sisters  came  to  live  with 
us,  and  also  my  friend.  Your  mother,  who  already 
shared  all  my  affections,  would  not  be  separated  from 
them,  and  when  the  time  of  my  departure  came,  she 
found  herself  surrounded  by  tender  and  sympathizing 
friends. 

"My  children,  there  are  some  of  life's  duties  very 
painful ;  I  felt  it  when,  after  a  long  stay  with  my  family, 
I  was  compelled  to  tear  myself  away  from  those  I  loved 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,    THE   DOUBLE    LESSON. 


59 


part, 

this 

with 

ready 
from 
!,  she 

fiizing 

very 


so  well,  in  order  to  join  that  Russian  expedition  which 
was  destined  to  be  so  fatal  to  France.  v 

"  It  was  during  the  time  of  that  deplorable  campaign, 
that  death  deprived  us  almost  simultaneously  of  my  uncle 
and  my  two  sisters.  Deville  came  to  join  me  in  Poland, 
(his  anxious  friendship  would  not  permit  him  to  await 
my  return ; )  and  from  his  mouth  I  learned  our  triple 
loss. 

"  Bowed  down  under  the  weight  of  the  miseries  I  had 
endured  with  that  unhappy  army  whose  sufferings  and 
whose  heroism  posterity  will  tell,  I  only  returned  to  my 
family  to  share  in  the  general  sorrow.  To  crown  all  our 
affliction,  we  were  f.gain  forced  to  separate ;  the  public 
service  still  required  me,  and  I  set  out  with  a  bleeding 
heart,  for  I  foresaw  that  these  last  struggles  would  end 
but  in  ruin  and  defeat.     ' 

"  At  length  came  the  battle  of  Waterloo.  You  know 
its  details,  my  sons,  but  you  know  not  that  your  father, 
grievously  wounded  in  that  disastrous  conflict,  would 
have  perished  but  for  the  generous  friend  who  had  so 
long  devoted  himself  to  him,  and  who  saved  him  from 
death  in  a  manner  little  short  of  miraculous. 

"  Although  separated  from  me,  Deville  could  not  cease 
to  follow  me  in  thought.  He  saw  from  the  first  that  our 
army  could  never  withstand  the  crushing  power  of  the 
allied  forces.  Tormented  by  anxiety  for  my  fate,  he 
hastened  to  the  army  and  arrived  on  the  field  at  the  very 
moment  when  the  general  rout  of  our  shattered  forces 
threw  terror  atid  dismay  into  every  heart.  Andre,  my 
servant,  had  seen  me  fall  in  the  last  charge.    Deville 


.il* 


I 


<  f 

1 


m 


n 


r\  • 


.r. 


60 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


meets  him,  pale  and  terrified,  amongst  the  flying.  He 
stops  him,  forces  bim  to  go  back  with  him  to  the  field  of 
battle,  makes  him  point  out  the  square  in  which  I  had 
fought,  and,  after  an  hour  of  the  most  revolting  search, 
he  discovers  me  under  a  heap  of  dead  bodies.  I  will  not 
try  to  describe  the  terrible  impression  which  the  sight  of 
my  apparently  lifeless  body  made  on  the  loving  heart  of 
my  true  friend.  He  laid  his  hand  on  my  heart,  however, 
and  found  that  it  still  beat,  or  rather  fluttered  ;  but  what 
was  to  be  done  to  save  me  in  the  dismal  solitude  of 
that  bloody  plain,  so  thickly  covered  with  the  dead  and 
dying  ? 

"At  length  Providence  came  to  his  assistance.  Whilst 
kneeling  by  me,  and  supporting  me  in  his  arms,  Andre 
perceived  several  persons  picking  up  the  wounded,  whom 
they  placed  in  litters.  A  woman,  or  rather  an  angel  in 
woman's  form,*  was  directing  this  work  of  mercy.  Her 
g^'acious  words  and  gestures  encouraged  her  assistants  to 
persevere  in  their  painful  search. 

"  *  Look  here  I  Look  yonder  !'  she  would  cry,  point- 
ing to  places  still  unexplored,  'go  on! — go  on! — courage! 
— God  will  bless  you !'   ' 

**  I  was  brought  by  Deville  and  Andre  to  this  angelic 
woman.  Seeing  my  poor  friend's  distress,  she  called  one 
of  the  surgeons  by  whom  she  was  accompanied.  He 
gave  my  wounds  a  temporary  dressing,  and  I  wi  s  after- 
wards conveyed  to  Brussels.     A  month  after,  furnished 

*  Historical.  We  regret  not  being  able  to  give  the  name  of 
this  lady,  to  whom  many  of  those  wounded  at  Waterloo  are 
indebted  for  their  lives.    She  belongs  to  Brussels. 


'^i 


He 

eld  of 
I  had 
earch, 
ill  not 
ight  of 
eart  of 
>\vever, 
it  what 
bude  of 
jad  and 

Whilst 
,  Andre 
i,  whom 
ingel  in 
\  Her 
tants  to 

y,  poi^t- 

jouragel 


le  name  of 
^erloo  are 


IDLENESS  ;   OR,    THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


61 


I 


with  a  disguise  and  good  passports,  DevlUe  and  I  took 
tlie  way  to  Blanieck,  where  our  coming  was  awaited  iu 
harrowing  suspense. 

**  You  now  see,  my  dear  boys,"  said  Mr.  d'Olbar  in 
conclusion,  "you  now  see  how  the  ties  which  unite 
Deville  and  myself  were  formed  and  cemented.  I  pur- 
posely p?str  d  this  explanat*'^"  until  such  time  as  you 
were  Oiu  enou^a  to  comprehend  what  your  father  owes 
to  that  dear  friend,  so  that  you  may  help  to  pay  that 
debt  of  gratitude  which  we  all  owe  him.  May  you,  all 
three,  in  return  for  his  care  and  solicitude,  try  to  imitate 
the  virtues  of  which  he  is  the  perfect  model!" 

Here  ends  Mr.  d'01bar\s  story.  If  our  young  readers 
have  been  following  it  with  interest,  they  will  be  glad  to 
learn  that  Alphonse,  the  colonel's  second  son,  profited 
much  by  the  lesson  it  conveyed,  especially  as  God  soon 
furnished  him  with  another  striking  proof  of  the  sad 
effects  of  idleness. 

One  day,  when  the  two  friends  alid  their  pupils  were, 
as  usufil,  assembled  in  the  pretty  warren,  the  youngest 
boy,  going  after  his  ball  into  the  long  grass,  suddenly 
uttered  a  cry,  and  ran  to  his  father,  saying  :  "  There's  a 
man  down  there — a  dead  man  I" 

*'  All  ran  towards  the  place  which  he  pointed  out.  A 
miserable  object,  covered  with  filthy  rags,  lay  there 
motionless.  It  was  found,  on  examination,  however,  that 
he  had  only  swooned.  Thinking  that  his  weakness  mjght 
proceed  from  hunger,  Mr.  d'Olbar  tried  to  make  him 
inhale  the  smell  of  a  piece  of  bread  taken  from  the  boys' 
satchel.     This  remedy  is  sometimes  effectual  in  such 


a 


* 


62 


IDLENESS  ;    OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


cases.  He  had  scarcely  put  the  bread  near  the  wretched 
creature's  mouth  when  he  seized  it,  swaffowed  it  greedily, 
and  fell  back  almost  chokhig. 

One  of  the  boys  ran  to  the  village  and  brought  a  cart. 
The  unhappy  man  was  conveyed  to  a  tavern  where  all 
possible  care  was  given  him,  and  he  recovered  his  senses. 
Mr.  d'Olbar  then  examined  him  attentively  ;  the  livid 
features  somehow  seemed  familiar  to  him.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  question  the  man,  but  withheld  by  the 
fear  of  fatiguing  him,  he  being  so  weak,  he  merely  gave 
him  in  charge  to  the  landlord,  and  gave  orders  to  have 
the  doctor  sent  for,  then  retired  with  his  sons  and  Mr. 
Deville. 

Next  day,  word  was  brought  to  Mr.  d'Olbar  that 
the  stranger,  who  was  suffering  from  more  than  one 
incurable  disease,  had  been  very  ill  during  the  night, 
and  had  asked  for  the  priest.  He  also  begged  the 
charitable  persons  who  had  assisted  him  to  go  and  see 
him  once  more.  - 

The  boys  obtained  permission  to  accompany  their 
father  and  his  friend.  When  they  entered  the  chamber 
where  the  dying  man  lay,  the  latter  raised  himself  with 
a  painful  effort,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  Mr.  d'Olbar. 

"  I  see,"  said  he,  "  that  these  wasted  features,  wasted 
by  the  most  abject  misery,  and  by  all  the  horrors  of 
remorse,  awake  in  your  mind  but  a  misty  recollection. 
Besides  the  worthy  man,  the  happy  father,  the  happy 
friend,  must  have  long  since  banished  from  his  memory 
the  wretch  who  at  one  time  hoped  to  bring  him  down  to 
his  own  level— 


1} 


IDLENESS  :   OR,   THE   DOUBLE   LESSON. 


63 


tched 
ledily, 

I  cart, 
sre  all 
senses. 
3  livid 
s  first 
3y  the 
y  gave 
0  have 
id  Mr. 

ir  that 
lan  one 

night, 
ed   the 

nd  see 

ly  their 
Ih  amber 
(If  with 


Here  Mr.  d'Olbar  and  his  friend  uttered  a  simultaneous 
exclamation  of  surprise. 

**  Ah  I  you  know  me  now,"  resumed  the  dying  man, 
"  well,  yes,  it  is  I — it  is  Isidore  whom  you  have  gener- 
ously assisted — Isidore  who  is  about  to  appear  before  his 
Supreme  Judge,  to  render  him  an  account  of  a  life  defiled 
by  idleness  and  all  the  vices  which  follow  in  its  train. 
Alas  !  to  those  miserable  vices  I  have  sacrificed  my  own 
happiness  and  that  of  all  connected  with  me.  Ernest ! 
towards  you  also  I  was  guilty  !  will  you,  can  you  forgive 
me  ?" 

"  From  my  heart  I  do  I"  cried  the  generous  soldier, 
and  he  pressed  between  both  his  own  the  emaciated  hand 
Oi  the  dying  man*. 

"  Well,  then,"  murmured  the  latter,  in  a  failing  voice, 
"  may  Heaven  pour  down  its  choicest  blessings  on  you, 
and  preserve  your  sons,  too,  from  the  fatal  propensity 
which  was  my  ruin  I" 

Some  moments  after,  the  unfortunate  man  received 
the  last  Sacrament,  and  that  same  evening  he  expired. 

Alphonse  d'Olbar  never  forgot  this  double  lesson. 


t  n 


»  m 


wasted 

:rors  ot 

llection. 

happy 

lemory 

lown  to 


i  i 

'A    h  I 


'.  1 


i.;^ 


THE    MEMORARE. 


One  day — it  was  that  of  the  departure  of  Edouard 
de  Saint-Kive  for  the  great  city  of  Paris — a  worthy 
priest,  an  old  friend  of  the  young  ti1aveller*s  family, 
had  accompanied  him  to  the  chapel  of  Our  Lady  of 
Fourvieres,  that  venerable  chapel  which  is  visited 
by  the  Lyonnese  every  day  in  the  year,  but  espe- 
cially on  the  Saturday  in  every  week.  Edouard  de 
Saint-Rive  was  setting  out  for  Paris  that  day  to 
study  law.  The  priest,  fearing  for  his  young  friend 
the  dangers  and  seductions  of  the  capital,  wished  to 
place  him  under  the  special  protection  of  the  Blessed 
Virgin. 

"  Friend,"  said  he  as  they  walked  together  up  the 
New  Koad  that  leads  to  the  Holy  Hill,  '^  many 
storms  will  rise  around  you,  many  tempests  will 
break  on  your  way,  many  shoals  will  intercept  your 
progress,  may  the  Blessed  Mother  of  God  then 
assist  you,  my  young  friend ! 

*'  Invoke  her,  my  child,  in  the  days  of  your  sad 


THE   MEMORARE. 


66 


w  4 

1 


the 


sad 


ness,  bless  her  in  your  joys,  so  that  both  may  be  puri- 
fied by  the  holy  name  of  Mary.  Believe  me,  my 
dear  Edouard,  the  Blessed  Virgin  never  forsakes 
those  who  pray  to  her  with  faith  and  seek  a  refuge 
in  her  maternal  heart. 

"Like  her  goodness,  her  power  is  infinite;  love 
her  well,  then,  that  tender  Mother;  love  her  always. 
Let  the  thought  of  her  govern  all  the  actions  of 
your  life.  With  that  thought  your  step  will  be 
surer,  your  road  easier,  and  you  will  prosper  in  all 
you  undertake."  ^ 

*'  Pray  for  me,"  answered  Edouard,  "  pray  that 
God  may  preserve  your  holy  words  in  my  heart 
that  they  may  fructify  and  bear  good  fruit." 

When  they  reached  the  top  of  the  Holy  Hill,  a 
cai'riage  with  herald ric  bearings  arrived  almost  at 
the  same  moment,  and  stopped  before  the  principal 
entrance.  Edouard^s  eyes  were  riveted  on  it  as  if 
drawn  by  some  mysterious  charm.  In  that  car- 
riage there  was  more  for  him  than  a  mere  feeling 
of  curiosity,  there  was  a  lesson,  a  precept,  and  what 
was  more,  a  proof  of  the  truth  of  his  old  friend's 
words,  full  of  hope  and  faith  as  they  were. 

He  saw  alighting  from  it  a  man  of  middle  age  : 
white  hair,  carefully  brushed,  gave  a  majestic  look 
to  his  fine  face,  furrowed,  most  probably,  by  many 
tears,  for  it  bore  the  imprint  of  profound  sorrow. 
His  black  coat,  buttoned  to  the  neck,  was  decorated 
with  the  ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honor.  The  old 
man  gave  his  arm  to  a  young  lady  who  walked  with 


I 


66 


THE   MEMORARE. 


:t    I' 


difficulty  :  her  brow  wa8  stamped  with  the  hue  of 
death,  yet  she  had  barely  reached  that  age  when  all 
is  joy  and  happiness,  at  that  period  of  life  when  all 
is  hope,  when  the  future  appears  a  boundless  hori- 
zon. Poor  young  girl !  she  was  long  doomed  to 
die  fair  as  she  was,  and  rich  in  all  that  the  privileged 
of  this  world  call  happiness. 

Hoping  to  put  oif  the  fatal  moment  when  the 
cold  marble  should  inclose  all  his  heart  held 
dear,  her  doating  father  had  vainly  taken  her 
to  foreign  countries — the  smiling  Swiss  valleys  of 
Interlaken  and  Unterseen — the  sunny  land  of  Spain 
— the  orange  groves  of  Italy — the  scenes  of  German 
story  where  the  beautiful  Rhine  winds  along  in  the 
shade  of  Gothic  castles  and  old  cathedrals;  vainly 
had  he  sought  to  awaken  her  sad,  dejected  heart, 
(her  days  that  were  falling  one  by  one  like  the 
flowers  of  a  bouquet  shaken  by  the  wind,)  to  all  the 
seductions  of  wealth;  she  was  sinking  rapidly  to 
the  grave,  weighed  down  by  the  heaviness  of  death. 

Having  examined  with  pious  attention  the  nume- 
rous ex-voto  that  tapestried  the  white  walls  of  Our 
Lady  of  Fourvieres,  and  wishing  to  say  the  prayer 
for  travellers  before  the  high  altar,  Edouard  de  St. 
Rive  found  himself  kneeling  beside  the  decorated 
old  man.  He  was  praying :  tears  fell  from  his  eyes, 
and  his  voice  was  choked  with  sobs. 

"Lord,  my  God!"  said  he,  "you  took  from  me 
in  the  hour  of  your  mysterious  decrees  the  beloved 
companion  whom  you  gave  me  in  the  hour  of  your 


mi 


n 


THE  MRMORARB. 


61 


•supreme  mercy !  Lord,  my  God !  you  took  back  the 
angel  whom  you  gave  mo  to  guide  my  uncertain 
steps  through  the  doubts  and  darkness  of  this 
weary  life  to  illumine  my  soul  with  a  beam  of  that 
light  which  shines  for  the  elect  in  heaven!  Lord, 
my  God !  you  claimed  her  again ;  may  your  name 
be  ever  blessed  and  your  holy  will  be  done ! 

"  Since  then,  Lord,  my  God,  I  have  shed  many  tears ; 
since  then,  thou  knowest,  O  Sweet  Jesus !  I  have 
suffered  much,  I  have  passed  lov<g  sleepless  nights, 
long  dreary  days  without  joy  laid  without  happi- 
ness; sufferings,  tears  and  sorrows,  i  ha\e  offered 
them  all  to  thee.  Like  thee,  our  Z^i  ister,  resigned 
to  the  will  of  God,  our  Fatl  a  \  I  have  l..>rne  my 
cross;  like  thee,  scourged  by  misfortune,  I  have 
climbed  the  road  to  Calvary  without  a  murmur; 
like  thee,  I  fell  broken  and  exhausted  on  the  way 
of  sorrows,  but  I  invoked  thy  ihrice  holy  name,  and 
thou  didst  raise  me  up ;  I  looked  round,  and  lo ! 
there  was  at  my  side  another  little  angel,  the  angel 
of  love  whom  thou  didst  leave  in  my  house  of 
mourning  for  hope  nud  consolation.  But  behold 
she  has  scarcely  touched  the  earth  when  her  wing 
is  plumod  again  for  heaven !  Lord,  my  God,  wait 
yet  some  days^  ia  the  name  of  thy  holy  and  august 
Mother :  lend  me  still  my  child,  preserve  her  to  me 
or  let  me  die  before  her ;  pity !  pardon !  mercy !  O 
my  God !  my  God !" 

So  said  and  prayed  the  old  man ;  and  in  his  burn- 
ing hand  he  clasped  the  cold  clammy  hand  of  the 


a 


a  11 
If 


68 


THE  MEMORARE. 


:    mM 


beloved  daughter  whose  days  on  earth  were  to  all. 
appearance  numbered.  When  he  raised  his  head 
and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  venerated  image  of  the 
Holy  Virgin,  his  noble  face  seemed  calmer  ;  there 
was,  as  it  were,  a  ray  of  hope  in  his  look,  when, 
from  the  holy  image,  it  reverted  to  the  pallid  brow 
of  his  child  and  the  loving  smile  that  beamed  in  her 
eyes.  Happy  they,  yes,  very  happy,  who  believe 
and  pray !  They  are  sheltered  from  the  despair 
that  destroys  the  body  and  withers  the  soul. 

Edouard  descended  the  hill  lost  in  thought ;  young 
and  inexperienced  as  he  was,  he  could  by  no  means 
understand  how  so  fair  a  creature  could  be  destined 
to  die  in  the  early  spring  of  life.  Death  has  no  age. 
Some  hours  after  he  was  rolling  along  on  the  high 
road  to  Paris,  enjoying  those  first  hours  of  freedom 
which  appear  so  fair  and  so  highly-colored,  deceit- 
ful as  they  are !  when,  at  seventeen,  we  cross  for 
the  first  time  the  paternal  threshold  as  our  own 
masters,  and  get  out  of  reach  of  the  anxious  parental 
chidings  and  admonitions,  and  are  far,  far  away  from 
a  mother's  fond  caress.    > 

More  than  once  before  the  sun's  last  rays  had 
vanished  in  the  west,  Edouard  turned  his  head  to 
take  another  look  at  the  white  spire  of  the  holy 
chapel,  and  when  it  disappeared  from  his  eyes,  he 
shuddered  at  the  thought  of  finding  himself  alone, 
then  fell  asleep  and  dreamed — he  dreamed  of  the 
armorial  carriage,  the  young  girl  and  the  old  man 
he  had  met  that  morning  at  the  gate  of  Our  Lady's 


*rj 
Paris 


TEE   MEMORARE. 


69 


chapel ;  he  saw  them  as  long  as  his  sleep  lasted ; 
the  carriage  dismal  as  a  hearse,  the  old  man  sad  and 
dejected,  and  the  girl  pale  and  drooping  as  a  half- 
blown  rose  bent  in  the  storm.  At  length  he  arrived 
in  Paris — Paris,  the  promised  land  seen  in  the  fairy 
dreams  of  the  young  and  rich  and  gay — Paris,  the 
abode  of  egotism  and  deception — ^the  nameless  chaos 
wherein  the  elements  of  good  and  evil  clash  at 
every  step — Paris  was  not  then  what  it  has  now 
become  under  the  trowel  of  the  imperial  restora- 
tion— where  St.  Rive  thought  to  find  a  kingly  city, 
a  fairy  capital,  a  Jerusalem  of  gold  and  marble,  he 
saw  only  dark,  sooty  houses,  crowded  dens  where 
human  beings  were  huddled  together  too  often  in 
filth  and  wretchedness.  In  fact,  if  you  took  from 
the  Paris  of  that  day  its  boulevards,  four  or  five 
public  buildings,  ten  or  twelve  private  residences, 
the  city  would  have  been  but  a  tribe  of  people  more 
or  less  civilized,  proverbially  decorated  with  the 
traditional  name  of  cockneys* 

By  way  of  compensation,  doubtless,  Edouard, 
protected  by  the  Blessed  Virgin  whom  he  had  in- 
voked so  fervently  at  Lyons,  encountered  none  of 
the  dangers  or  seductions  the  prospect  of  which  had 
so  alarmed  his  young  and  inexperienced  mind.  One 
day  he  was  expressing  his  surprise  to  a  comrade 
whom  he  had  not  seen  since  he  left  college,  the  latter, 
who  had  been  three  years  studying  in  Paris,  answered 

*  In  French  badanas,  which  means  Pari  csockneys  So 
Paris  has  its  cockneys  as  well  as  London. 


f     1 


-I 
1 


i:M 


70 


THE   MEMORARE. 


i    ( 


I,.      I  i 


him  laughing :  "  The  devils  are  not  all  in  Paris,  you 
will  find  them  at  work  in  the  village  as  well  as  in  the 
city.  So  it  is  with  the  angels;  virtue,  I  believe, 
may  find  shelter  anywhere,  even  in  the  midst  of 
human  joys,  and  the  bustling  pleasures  of  the  capital. 
Come  and  breakfast  with  me  to-morrow,  or  rather 
I  will  call  for  you  early  in  the  morning  to  go  visit 
the  churches.  You  will  see  that  people  can  pray 
here  as  well  as  in  the  country." 

According  to  promise,  Leon  de  St.  Julien  called 
for  Edouard  next  morning  at  seven  o'clock.  There 
was  a  great  ceremony  that  day  in  the  Church  of  St. 
Sulpice,  that  of  the  first  Communion.  Edouard 
could  not  help  expressing  his  astonishment  on  seeing 
a  great  number  of  literary  and  other  celebrities 
piously  kneeling  in  the  choir,  the  nave  and  the  side- 
chapels.  Leon  pointed  them  out,  whispering :  "  All 
that  are  here  now,  come  to  pray,  not  to  see  or  be  seen^ 

A  moment  after,  he  called  his  attention  to  a  sol- 
dier in  full  dress,  a  drummer,  who  was  marching  up 
to  the  altar  with  perfect  recollection.  Happiness 
beamed  on  his  brow  and  in  his  eyes.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life  he  was  going  to  assist  at  GocTs  jparade 
as  he  called  the  holy  table.  Leon  had  often  noticed 
him  at  Pere  Ravignan's  familiar  Conferences  and 
private  Instructions.  The  evening  before  he  had 
shaken  hands  with  the  drummer  at  the  house  of  that 
worthy  priest  a  moment  after  he  had  received  abso- 
lution. Then  in  the  joyous  enthusiasm  of  a  con- 
verted sinner,  he  had  made  use  of  an  expression  sin- 


1 
1 


THE   MEMORARE. 


tl 


you 
1  the 
ieve, 
;t  of 
pital. 
ather 

visit 

pray 

called 
rhere 
of  St. 
ouard 
seeing 
brities 
side- 
«All 

a  sol- 
ing lip 
miness 
le  first 
mracle 
ioticed 
iS  and 
le  had 

)fthat 
abso- 
la  con- 
Ion  sin- 


gularly picturesque  :  "  Father,"  he  exclaimed,  mak- 
ing a  motion  with  his  arms  as  if  beating  the  drum, 
"  father,  I  have  been  fifteen  years  beating  the  drum 
for  France,  you  have  beat  it  to-day  on  my  heart  for 
the  good  God." 

The  same  day  the  two  friends  visited  Notre  Dame, 
St.  Germain-des-Pres  (St.  Germains  of  the  Meadows), 
St.  Eustache,  St.  Roche  and  the  Magdalen.  In  all 
there  was  the  same  confluence  of  faithful  believers 
and  the  same  pious  recollection. 

Some  days  after,  Edouard,  on  returning  to  his 
rooms  in  the  evening,  found  the  following  note : 

"Wait  for  me  to-morrow.  I  am  going  to  take 
you  to  Notre  Dame,  where  an  interesting  ceremony 
is  to  take  place.     The  Archbishop  is  to  preside. 

"  Yours  ever, 

"Leon." 

Next  day,  at  ten  o'clock,  the  two  college  friends 
were  crossing  the  Pont  Neuf  on  their  way  to  the 
metropolis,  when  they  saw  a  great  crowd  of  people 
following  a  dead  body  that  had  just  been  taken  from 
the  Seine.  It  was  that  of  a  young  woman.  Edouard 
had  never  before  found  himself  so  near  suicide,  that 
great  crime  of  our  dissipated,  skeptical  and  corrupt 
society.  This  young  person  had  probably  thrown 
herself  into  the  river  at  the  close  of  a  ball,  for  she 
sva?  attired  in  full  ball-dress,  the  water  streaming 
from  her  long  curls  and  the  flowers  that  wreathed 
her  brow. 


{  1 


Ik 


'm% 


iri'.]| 


12 


THE   MEMORARK. 


All  the  aristocracy  of  the  faubourg  St.  Germain 
Were  assembled  at  the  Cathedral  to  witness  the  ab- 
juration of  a  young  Jewish  maiden.  A  crowd  of 
armorial  carriages  were  drawn  up  in  line  on  the 
square  without ;  within  a  great  number  of  the  clergy 
were  collected  around  the  chief  pastor  of  the  church 
of  Paris. 

The  Archbishop  was  to  deliver  a  short  address, 
and  every  one  knew  the  glowing  fervor  and  the 
touching  piety  that  ever  marked  his  words,  and 
made  them  sink  into  every  heart.  His  eloquence 
was  truly  sublime  when,  addressing  the  converted 
Jewess,  ho  dilated  on  tlie  transcendent  charms  of 
Catholicity.  Never  has  the  divine  beauty  of  our 
holy  religion  been  more  vividly,  more  strikingly  de- 
monstrated. 

This  imposing  ceremony  received  a  momentary 
interruption  from  a  melancholy  accident.  At  the 
moment  when  the  august  prelate  poured  the  baptis- 
mal water  on  the  girPs  head,  a  cry  of  distress  was 
heard  from  a  side-chapel,  and  a  moment  after  an 
old  man  decorated  with  orders  was  seen  bearing  in 
his  arms  the  form  of  a  young  lady  who  had  fallen 
senseless,  perhaps  lifeless,  for  her  brow  was  pale  as 
that  of  the  dead. 

It  was  the  fair  invalid  whom  Edouard  had  seen 
on  the  verge  of  the  grave  at  Lyons,  on  the  threshold 
of  the  Virgin's  Hospital,  before  the  high  altar  of  Our 
Lady  of  Fourvieres. 

Attracted  after  the  old  man  by  a  mysterious 


THE  MEMORARE. 


[lam 

ab- 
iof 

the 
ergy 
urch 

Iress, 
I  the 
,  and 
lence 
erted 
as  of 
>f  our 
ly  de- 

jntary 
Lt  the 
>aptis- 
is  was 
;er  an 
ng  in 
fallen 
ale  as 

li  seen 
eshold 
)f  Our 

eriouB 


impulse,  an  instinctive  curiosity,  the  two  friends 
reached  the  steps  of  the  church  in  time  to  see  him 
get  into  his  carriage  and  drive  rapidly  away.  An 
old  crone  was  at  their  side :  "  Death  will  arrive 
before  them,"  muttered  she,  and  she  shook  her  head. 
"  Let  us  pray  for  the  poor  girl,"  answered  Edouard. 

A  year  had  flown  away  after  that  day;  De 
St.  Rive  had  regularly  followed  the  course  of  the 
learned  Faculty  and  the  pious  counsels  of  his  reve- 
rend friend ;  he  had  preserved  himself  pure  amidst 
th^  seductions  of  the  capital  and  the  bad  example 
of  his  companions.  Then  the  time  of  vacation  being 
come,  he  left  Paris  for  two  months  and  saw  again 
with  delight  his  dear  native  Lyons,  its  beautiful 
Rhine,  the  pretty  spire  of  the  Fourvieres,  the  holy 
chapel,  the  place  where  the  stately  old  man  and  the 
dying  girl  had  one  day  prostrated  themselves,  the 
one  to  pray,  the  other  to  await  the  hour  of  sacrifice, 
innocent  and  resigned.  By  that  time,  Edouard 
thought  the  poor  invalid  must  have  ceased  to  suffer ; 
for  God,  doubtless,  touched  by  her  sufferings,  had 
sent  one  of  His  best  loved  angels  to  take  her  to 
heaven. 

II. 

Edouard  de  St.  Rive  loved  Our  Lady  of  Fourvieres, 
he  loved  her  as  a  child  ought  to  love  his  good 
mother;  he  never  failed,  therefore,  to  pay  her  a 
visit  when  he  went  to  Lyons,  especially  on  Saturday 
which,  in  his  simple  faith,  he  called  the  Bleued 


"1 


\f 


f  i 


u 


THE  MEMORARE. 


ij-i 


Virgin's  reception-day.  It  was  a  great  happiness  for 
him  to  see  the  good  Lyonnese  prostrate  on  the 
marble  flags,  far  from  the  tumult  of  the  world, 
and  far  from  the  passions  of  men  storming  and  clash- 
ing below  the  hill.  He  loved  to  see  all  those  faces 
lit  up  with  a  ray  of  divine  love — all  those  men  and 
women  isolated  in  the  silence  of  their  hearts  to 
hearken  to  the  voice  of  God.  He  loved  with  all  his 
heart  the  heavenly  mother  to  whom  his  own  on 
earth  had  taught  his  infant  lips  to  pray,  before  the 
blessed  palm  of  the  household. 

On  a  Saturday,  then,  Edouard,  returned  to  Lyons, 
as  we  have  said,  found  himself  at  the  top  of  the  holy 
hill,  on  the  terrace  of  Fourvieres,  and  by  his  side  the 
venerable  priest  whom  we  had  the  honor  of  present- 
ing to  you,  dear  readers,  at  the  beginning  of  this 
sketch.  The  day  had  been  superb,  not  a  cloud  was 
in  the  sky. 

At  that  moment  the  horizon  was  all  on  fire.  The 
setting  sun  had  shed  his  latest  beams  on  the 
Alps,  which  appeared  far  off  in  the  distance,  their 
bold  outline  clearly  traced  on  the  deep  blue  sky 
behind.  That  lovely  chain  of  mountains  reposed 
in  queenly  grandeur,  crowned  with  the  last  rays  of 
the  setting  sun.  From  the  summit  of  Mont  Blanc, 
the  eye  wandered  down  to  the  deep  valleys  at  its 
feet  where  the  Rhone  and  the  Saone  like  betrothed 
lovers  unite  at  the  end  of  the  Perrache  peninsula  to 
roll  on  together  to  the  ocean,  that  vast  tomb  of 
rivecs  and  streams.  * 


<i 


fi-*. 


THE   MEMORARE. 


w 


IB  for 
L  the 
rorld, 
slash- 
faces 
II  and 
rts  to 
all  his 
vn  on 
re  the 

Lyons, 
lo  holy 
de  the 
resent- 
of  this 
d  was 

The 
•n  the 
I,  their 
lue  sky 
eposed 
[ays  of 
Blanc, 
at  its 
irothed 
isula  to 
mb  of 


The  thoughtful  eyes  of  the  priest  and  the  siudent 
were  fixed  on  the  moving  panorama  in  the  streets 
below,  where  multitudes  of  people  were  hurrying 
to  and  fro  like  the  busy  insects  we  meet  in  Qur 
country  walks  in  summer,  when  all  at  once  the 
sound  of  carriage  wheels  attracted  their  atten- 
tion. Curiosity,  natural  to  all,  drew  them  to  the 
door  of  the  chuich.  "  My  God !"  cried  Edouard, 
"  can  this  be  a  dream  ? — see,  father  ! — do  you  not 
recognize  that  old  man  and  that  young  lady  ?  Oh ! 
it  is  they — go,  father  ! — but  what  a  change !  the  old 
man  is  no  longer  sad  and  disconsolate,  but  radiant 
and  happy.  The  girl  is  no  longer  pale  and  droop- 
ing, but  fresh  and  blooming  as  a  rose  in  May -" 

*'  It  is  she,  indeed,"  answered  the  priest. 

"  Do  the  dead  come  back,  then,  from  the  grave, 
father?" 

"  Nothing  is  impossible  to  Him  who,  holding  in 
His  hands  the  destinies  of  men,  raised  Lazarus  from 
the  dead." 

"Father,  look!  she  no  longer  droops  on  her  stem, 
poor  flower !  she  no  longer  bends  her  faded  face  to 
the  earth — her  step  is  firm,  her  foot  scarcely  touches 
the  ground,  it  is  so  light  and  fleet,  her  air  is  lively 
and  animated ! — let  us  go  into  the  church  with  her 
— see,  father !  a  great  number  of  tapers  are  burning 
before  the  Virgin'^  altar,  a  priest  is  singing  the  Te 
Demn^  and  the  young  lady  unites  her  voice  with  his 
— ^how  sweet,  how  full,  how  harmonious  it  is !  ah ! 
how  unlike  the  voice  of  that  apparently  dying  girl 


V  ■ 

J't  ■ 


U'  >  m 


A'  .■ 


;,;,  ,  I 


'  'l  ■  .       I. 


n 


THE   MEMORARE. 


who  could  scarcely  murmur :  *  Lord  have  mercy  on 
me!'" 

"  The  girl  has  been  cured,  my  son — God  has  pre- 
served her  to  her  father's  love,  because  He  was  ono 
day  touched  by  his  prayers  and  had  mercy  on  him — 
because  our  Holy  Mother  one  day  received  a  peti- 
tion in  this  her  favorite  shrine  and  was  graciously 
pleased  to  grant  it  as  she  al    a.ys  does " 

"  What  petition  ?" 

"  That  which  the  young  lady's  father  pronounced 
here  before  Our  Lady  of  Fourvieres — the  Mcmorare, 
Happy  are  those  who  believe — happy  are  those  who 

pray!" 

#  ♦  *;-.#:#■  ♦    "    ■   # 

The  fair  girl  so  providentially  cured  is  now  the 

happy  wife  of  the  Prince  de  B .     She  lives  in 

the  great  world  of  Paris,  which  she  graces  as  much 
by  her  virtues  as  her  charms. 


M 


'Mi- 


rcy  on 


as  pre- 
as  one 
him — 
a  peti- 
ciously 


lounced 
^morare. 
3se  who 

■   * 

now  the 

lives  in 

as  much 


THE    GODFATHER. 


Styria,  a  province  of  Germany,  is  one  of  the  here- 
ditary States  of  the  House  of  Hapsburg.  The  arch- 
duchy of  Austria  bounds  it  on  the  north,  Hungary 
on  the  east,  Lower  Carinthia  on  the  south,  the  same 
Carinthia  and  the  archdiocese  of  SaUzburg  on  the 
west.  It  was  formerly  comprised,  part  in  Pannonia 
and  part  in  Norica.  It  was  under  the  dominion  of 
the  Dukes  of  Bavaria  till  the  year  1030,  when  the 
Emperor  Conrad  erected  it  into  a  marquisate,  which 
he  conferred  on  Ottocar,  Count  of  Muertzhal  and 
Avelentz,  nephew  of  the  young  Duke  of  Carinthia, 
on  condition  that  the  latter  would  defend  that  fron- 
tier of  the  empire  against  the  ceaseless  incursions  of 
the  barbarians. 

The  Emperor  Henry  V.  confirmed  in  1120  the 
privileges  granted  by  his  predecessors  to  the  Mar- 
quis of  Styria;  and  the  Emperor  Frederick  I.,  wish- 
ing to  recognize  in  a  manner  worthy  of  him — their 
good  and  loyal  services,  erected  the  marquisate  into 
a  duchy  in  favor  of  Ottocar  II.  s 


If  '. 
J 


78 


THE    GODFATHER. 


Then,  by  the  donation  which  he  made  of  it  to  his 
father-in-law,  Leoi)old,  Duke  of  Austria,  with  the 
consent  of  the  States  of  the  country,  Styria  passed 
into  the  possession  of  the  House  of  Austria. 

Afterwards,  when  Frederick  the  Warlike  died 
without  issue,  Ottocar,  King  of  Bohemia,  took  pos- 
session of  this  duchy,  but  it  was  immediately  taken 
from  him  by  the  Emperor  Rodolph  I.,  who  bestowed 
it  on  his  son  Albert.  Styria  has  an  extent  of  twenty- 
two  leagues  in  length  and  twenty  in  breadth ;  it  is 
watered  by  the  Drave,  the  Muer,  and  several  othei 
rivers  of  minor  importance.  Fertile  in  some  places, 
barren  and  wild  in  many  others,  it  is  encircled  by 
lofty  and  picturesque  mountains.  Its  inhabitants 
have  been  always  distinguished  by  a  boundless  devo- 
tion to  the  House  of  Austria,  and  an  unalterable 
attachment  to  the  person  of  its  sovereigns.  Skilfr^ 
archers,  indefotigable  hunters,  they  have  taken  an 
active  and  courageous  part  in  all  the  wars  of  the 
empire.  Sincerely  attached  to  the  faith  of  their 
fathers,  they  possess  all  the  virtues  that  character- 
ize a  truly  Christian  people.  Amongst  other  vir- 
tues their  honesty  is  proverbial,  and  they  carry  it 
to  an  extent  very  rare  in  other  countries.  In  proof 
of  this  we  may  relate  the  following  anecdote :  A 
mountaineer  having  once  found  a  purse  of  gold, 
brought  it  immediately  to  his  pastor.  The  latter, 
much  embarrassed  on  his  side,  and  at  a  loss  how  to 
act  in  a  case  so  new  to  him,  assembled  the  chief 
men  of  the  place  to  consult  with  them  on  the  means 


THE    GODFATHER. 


79 


to  his 
h  the 
)assed 

I  dieO 
k  pos- 
taken 
towed 
tventy- 
i ;  It  is 

othei 
places, 
led  by 
bitants 
8  devo- 
terable 
Skilfr^ 
ken  an 
of  the 
f  their 
racter- 
ler  vir- 
arry  it 

proof 

|)te:  A 

gold, 

latter, 

ow  to 
chief 

means 


that  ought  be  taken  to  find  the  owner  of  the  lost 
treasure.  "  There  is  but  ono  "  they  all  agreed,  "  and 
that  is  to  take  back  the  purse  to  the  very  spot 
where  it  was  found,  for  the  owner  will  be  sure  to 
return  the  way  he  went  to  look  for  it."  This  simple 
proposition  being  unanimously  adopted,  the  moun- 
taineer who  had  fouiid  the  purse,  set  out  at  once  to 
place  it  on  a  fence  by  the  road-side,  where  the  fol- 
lowing notice  was  written  on  a  post : 

''  The  purse  here  placed  was  found  on  this  spot  on  the 
*lthofJidy,mV' 

The  lost  treasure,  thus  placed  under  the  safeguard 
of  public  honor,  remained  a  year  and  a  day  at  the 
disposal  of  its  owner,  who  was,  doubtless,  too  far 
off  to  return  to  seek  it.  From  the  high  road,  it 
passed  to  the  sacristy  of  the  village  church,  where 
it  still  waits  to  be  claimed. 

We  have  seen  ivith  our  own  eyes^  and  couiited  with 
our  own  hands  eleven  louis  d'or  all  new  and  bearing 
the  effigy  of  King  Louis  XV.  It  is  evident  that 
the  traveller  who  lost  them  must  have  been  French. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  with  this  sum  ?" 
I  asked  the  good  vicar  who,  finding  himself  its 
owner,  by  transmission,  showed  it  to  me. 

"  What  my  predecessor  did  with  it.  I  will  leave 
it  to  my  successor." 

"  What  do  you  think  will  be  done  with  it  when 
the  time  of  prescription  comes  V 

"Prescription,  did  you  say  ?"  ^ 

"Yes,  prescription." 


n 
fi'..- 

il'' 


80 


THE   GODFATnr.i 


"  We  have  no  such  wore!  here." 

"  In  Franco,  it  would  be  distributed  amongst  the 


)) 


poor 

"  The  poor,  if  we  had  any,  would  have  nothing  to 
do  with,  it  knowing  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  give 
what  does  not  belong  to  him." 

I  could  not  make  the  worthy  pastor  understand 
that  an  object  lost  and  not  claimed  before  a  certain 
time,  reverting  to  the  public,  becomes  the  patri- 
mony of  the  poor. 

As  it  is  very  unlikely  that  the  heirs  of  the  French 
traveller  will  ever  present  themselves  in  the  moun- 
tains of  Styria  to  claim  a  portion  of  their  inheritance, 
we  may  reasonably  believe  that  the  eleven  gold 
pieces,  stamped  with  the  image  of  Louis  XV.,  will 
remain  long  enough  in  the  sacristy  where  we  left 
them. 

11. 

Not  far  from  this  village  of  phenomenal  honesty 
there  lived  in  1849,  and  may  live  there  still  for  aught 
we  know,  a  man  who  might  be  sixty-five  or  there- 
abouts, although  his  tall  erect  figure  and  square 
shoulders  would  have  given  him  no  more  than  fifty. 
Frantz,  for  such  was  his  name,  was  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  the  soldier,  the  monk,  the  lord  and  the  pea- 
sant. His  life,  taken  in  detail,  savored  of  the  bar- 
rack, the  convent,  the  castle  and  the  cottage.  His 
manner,  at  all  times  uneven,  .became,  according  to 
circumstances,  frank  and  martial,  pious  and  col- 


li^ J    ki 


8t  the 


ling  to 
o  give 


rstand 

certain 

patri- 

b^rench 
moun- 
itance, 
1  gold 
f.,  will 
e  left 


THK   GODFAinER. 


II 


onesty 

auglit 
there- 
square 
n  fifty, 
e  mix- 
le  pea- 
le  bar- 
i.  His 
ing  to 
id  col- 


lected, stately  and  commanding,  rustic  and  simple. 
As  a  soldier,  ho  smoked  and  drank  like  a  true  Ger- 
man, as  he  was — as  a  devotee,  ho  was  sure  to  say 
his  usual  prayers  night  and  morning — and  good 
long  prayers,  too — though  troubled  with  rheumatism 
at  certain  periods  of  the  year  he  had  himself  carried 
to  Church  rather  than  miss  Mass  on  Sundays  or  ho- 
lidays ;  as  a  proud  noble  he  carried  a  high  head  and 
spoke  in  a  tone  of  authority;  as  a  simple  peasant  he 
spoke  the  patois  of  the  people,  and  was  hand  and 
glove  with  them  every  day  of  his  life,  as  he  was 
often  told  by  his  ancient  housekeeper,  who  had  also 
been  his  nurse.  So  you  see,  dear  readers,  Frantz 
bad  the  knack  of  assuming  a  variety  of  aspects  and 
making  himself  at  home  with  all,  and  that,  too, 
without  either  ostentation  or  hypocrisy.  For  the 
rest,  generous  as  the  wine  he  so  freely  offered  to 
his  friends,  with  a  heart  as  straight  as  the  shank  of 
his  own  pipe,  he  was,  in  all  respects,  a  most  worthy 
man. 

He  had  married  rather  late  in  life  the  young  and 
handsome  daughter  of  a  wealthy  farmer,  who  made 
him  an  excellent  wife,  and  brought  him,  at  an  in- 
terval of  sixteen  years,  a  charming  girl  already 
grown  to  womanhood  and  a  fine  boy  not  yet  weaned. 
Happy  in  his  paternal  and  conjugal  affections,  Frantz 
used  to  say :  *'  I  would  not  exchange  my  lot  with 
the  greatest  priuce  on  earth — what  is  wanting  in 
mine  ?  Have  I  not  in  the  person  of  my  wife,  Sophia, 
a  queen  of  virtue  and  goodness;   in  that  of  my 


i 


:N" 


ft; 


<•',' 

M' 


IV  ; 


l;.i# 


El   lip 


M   '^l' 


,.  I' 


^t,j 


THE   GODFATHER. 

daughter,  Elevida,  an  angel  of  beauty  and  innocence, 
and  in  my  baby  boy,  the  hope,  the  pride  of  my  life 
and  the  staff  of  my  old  age.  For  dominions,  I  have  a 
property  that  is  aU  within  range  of  my  eye  -for 
subjects,  I  have  fine  horses  in  my  stables,  fine  cows 
and  heifers  in  my  fields,  and  a  poultry-yard  abundantly 
stocked — these  subjects,  always  faithful,  leave  me 
nothing  to  dread  in  the  shape  of  revolution,  except 
the  changes  of  the  weather.  Wife,*'  he  would  add, 
"  we  ought  to  thank  God.  who  has  given  us  a  life 
so  smooth  and  easy." 

Frantz  was  the  son  of  a  country  gentleman,  and 
had  passed  the  early  portion  of  his  life  in  the  pur- 
suit of  arms ;  the  second  in  field  sports  on  his  own 
grounds.  He  had  for  huntsman  a  brave  fellow  who 
served  him  at  once  for  butler,  coachman,  steward 
and  valet  de  ckambre.  His  days,  evenly  and  regularly 
divided,  flowed  on  like  a  stream  of  music,  in  the 
calm  delights  of  affection  and  the  peace  of  a  good 
conscience.  When  evening  came,  seated  in  regal 
state — a  king  in  the  love  of  his  family — in  an  old 
hereditary  arm-chair,  certainly  as  ancient  as  the 
reign  of  Frederick  the  Warlike,  he  told  over  his 
feats  of  arms  and  hunting  adventures  which  his 
hearers  all  knew  by  heart,  having  heard  them  re- 
peated times  without  number.  Then  when  ten 
o'clock  came,  as  regular  as  the  clock  itself,  he  recited 
aloud,  before  all  his  assembled  household,  the  even- 
ing prayers,  before  going  to  seek,  in  his  night's  rest, 


THE   GODFATHER. 


83 


the 


under  tho  divine  protection,  new  strength  to  begin 
his  life  again  on  the  morrow. 

Amongst  his  military  recollections  which  he  most 
loved  to  narrate,  there  was  one  which  recurred  re- 
gularly fifty-two  times  in  the  solar  year,  once  in 
every  eight  days,  not  to  speak  of  the  extra  occasions, 
such  as  the  visit  of  an  old  companion  in  arms  or  a 
neighbor ,  it  was  free  to  all  comers. 

Frantz  had  served  under  the  Archduke  Charles 
and  borne  arms  up  to  1815.  It  was  at  that  period, 
and  in  consequence  of  a  disappointment,  styled  in 
military  parlmice  a  "  pass-over,"  that  he  tendered  his 
resignation  of  the  captain*s  commission  he  held,  and 
withdrew  into  private  life.  A  better  soldier  than 
he  was  a  courtier,  he  had  seen  pass  his  button-ltole^ 
as  he  said  himself,  and  given  to  those  who  deserved 
it  less,  the  cross  which  the  Archduke  Charles  had 
promised  him  on  many  occasions.  This  injustice 
had  left  a  bitter  feeling  in  his  mind,  and  gave  to  his 
words,  when  they  touched  on  that  subject,  a  vindic- 
tive tone  oddly  contrasted  with  his  real  good- 
nature. "  Talk  not  to  me  of  the  justice  of  the  great 
and  the  gratitude  of  sovereigns,"  would  he  then 
say ;  "  great  people  and  sovereigns,  too,  are  noth- 
ing more  than  great  ingrates.  Six-and-twenty 
years  did  I  pay  with  my  blood  the  debt  I  owed  my 
country — they  might  have  paid  the  debt  the  coun- 
try owed  me^  with  a  bit  of  a  ribbon  aud  a  cross, 
but  they  didn't  do  it — I  saved  the  life  of  an  aid-de- 
camp of  General  Schwarzemberg's,  I  received  seven 


,  *i 


M»^ 


84 


THE   GODFATHER. 


wounds,  I  was  twice  left  for  dead  on  the  field  of 
battle,  and,  by  way  of  reward,  I  received  from  the 
hand  of  the  Archduke  Charles  but  a  shqj  on  the  shoul- 
der and  promises  that  are  still  to  be  kept — I  say, 
princes  are  but  ingratcs." 

"  Speak  not  so,  father,"  said  his  daughter  Elevida, 
placing  her  little  white  hand  on  her  father's  lips — 
"  those  words  which  you  say  over  and  over  in  the 
hearing  of  all  may  be  misinterpreted *' 

"  And  what  then  ?" 

"  They  might  make  enemies  for  you " 

"  What  care  I  for  enemies  ?  I  saw  enough  of  them 
in  France." 

"  Besides,  father  dear,  we  should  never  despair 
of  anything — I  am  sure  you  will  get  a  cross  sooner 
or  later."  . 

"  Ay,  a  wooden  one — over  my  grave — Fm  sure 
of  that,  anyhow." 

"  And  it  is  the  best,  father  !" 

"  I  don't  deny  that,  my  child !  but  then  every  one 
has  it^  you  see,  whereas  every  one  cafi't  have  the 
other.  But  never  mind!  go  fetch  me  my  over-coat 
— the  promises  of  the  great  are  not  worth  a  pipe  of 
good  tobacco — the  glory  that  is  won  in  their  service 
is  not  worth  the  smoke  of  a  good  cigar." 

Like  all  good  sportsmen,  Frantz  was  exceedingly 
jealous  of  his  property-rights — he  liked  no  one  to 
hunt  on  his  estate — and  a  gun-shot  fired  on  his  lands 
was  more  unwelcome  to  his  ear  than  a  cannon-shot 
used  to  be  on  the  field  of  battle.     He  had  a  whole  • 


li  r 


THE    GODFATHER. 


85 


id  of 
a  the 
shoul- 
I  say, 

evida, 
lips — 
in  the 


ithem 

despair 
sooner 

oa  sure 


ery  one 

IV e  the 
er-coat 

pipe  of 
service 

edingly 
)  one  to 
us  lands 
ion-shot 
1  whole  • 


som'^  horror  of  poachers  and  amateurs  who  often 
came  a  long  way  to  shoot  moor-cocks.  Now,  his 
property  w^as  famous  twenty  leagues  round  for 
the  quantity  and  quality  of  that  favorite  game,  and 
not  a  week  passed  but  he  had  some  serious  difficulty 
with  sportsmen  caught  in  the  act  of  trespassing  on 
his  grounds. 

One  evening  as  he  walked  the  rounds  to  protect 
his  lands  endangered  by  the  appearance  of  abundant 
game  (the  heath-cock  is  only  hunted  by  night)  he 
perceived  two  young  men  hidden  amongst  the  over- 
hanging branches  of  a  thicket.  He  immediately 
approached  them,  and  asked  in  a  tone  indicative  of 
anything  but  good- will : 

"  Whence  come  you,  gentlemen  V 

"  From  Vienna,"  one  of  them  answered. 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?" 

"  To  see  and  admire-  the  beauties  of  nature." 

"And  botanize,  of  €(nirse?" 

"Why  not?" 

"  With  those  guns,  to  be  sure.** 

" Undoubtedly,  we  take  quite  an  interest  in  the 
heath  of  these  mountains." 

"  And  to  botanize  my  heath-cocks — my  heath,  I 
mean — pray  have  you  got  a  license  ?" 

"  A  botanical  license  ?  we  knew  not  that  it  was 


J5 


necessary. 
"You  don't  know  where  yon  are,  then?" 


u 


We  are  in  Styria,  on  the  lands  of  the  Emperor 


of  Austria, 


» 


lit' 


Sir'      >' 


'       I 


86 


THE    GODFATHER. 


t-'l 


) 


"  No,  gentlemen,  you  are  on  my  lands.  The  Em- 
peror  has  nothing  to  do  here.  I  am  more  master 
here,  perhaps,  than  he  is  at  home." 
»  "  Respect  the  Emperor's  name !"  cried  the  younger 
of  the  two  strangers,  who  had  hitherto  remained 
silent. 

"  Respect,  first  of  all,  the  property  of  others," 
answered  Frantz,  more  and  more  annoyed  by 
the  cool  composure  of  the  poaching  sportsmen. 
"  Either,"  he  added,  "  there  is  no  more  law  in  Aus- 
tria, or  your  Emperor  is  powerless  in  having  it 
observed,  since  every  vagabond  that  comes  the  way 
may  hunt  and  shoot  with  impunity  on  reserved 
grounds.     Who  are  you,  gentlemen  ?" 

"Two  employees  of  the  government." 

"  It  was  not  your  quality  I  wanted  to  know,  but 
your  name.     What  is  your  name — you,  sir?" 

"  Francis  Toutcourt.*' 

'•  Toutcourt — it  seems  to  me  that  your  godfather 
might  have  chosen  you  another  name,  Mr.  Francis." 

"  I  am  not  of  your  opinion — Toutcourt*  is  a  capi- 
tal name  for  a  sportsman  who  follows  indiscrimi- 
nately all  kinds  of  game." 

"  Well !  Mr.  Toutcourt,  I  have  the  honor  to  inform 
you  that  I  sliall  be  imder  the  necessity  of  letting  his 
Majesty  know  that  h<^  has  in  his  employment  two 
fellows  who  make  free  with  other  people's  property." 

*  To  understand  this  pun  some  of  our  readers  may  require 
to  he  told  that  the  French  word  ToMicouri  would  be  equivalent 
to  the  English  word  Run-all. 


'  1.  ; 


THE  GODFATHER. 


87 


e  Em- 
[naster 

onnger 
[naiiied 

.thers" 
^ed  by 
rtsmen. 
in  Aus- 
Lving  it 
the  way 
•eserved 


low,  but 

todfather 

rancis." 

s  a  capi- 

iscrimi- 

:o  inform 

jtting  his 

lent  two 

I'operty." 

|tiy  require 
jquivalent 


"  We  shall  return  to-morrow  to  Vienna,  and  as  I 
will  probably  have  the  honor  of  seeing  his  Imperial 
Majesty,  I  shall  be  happy  to  lodge  your  complaint, 
if  you  desire  it." 

*'  You  are  making  fun  of  me,  I  really  think  I" 

"  No,  I  am  simply  offering  my  service." 

"Meanwhile  I  will  simply  confiscate  your  guns 
as  proofs  of  the  delinquency.'*  So  saying  the  squire 
made  to  seize  the  fowling-pieces. 

''  They  are  too  heavy  for  you,  old  man,"  said  one 
of  the  young  sportsmen.  "  We  shall  take  them 
ourselves  to  your  dwelling,  if  it  be  not  too  far 
distant." 

*'  Five  hundred  paces  or  so  behind  yonder  hill." 

"  Lead  on  then — we  follow." 

Five  minutes  after,  the  dogs  of  a  farm  contiguous 
to  a  species  of  dilapidated  castle  flanked  with  a 
large  tower  thickly  covered  with  ivy,  announced 
by  their  joyous  barking  the  return  of  their  master. 
A  lady  of  some  forty  years  and  a  tall,  beautiful 
young  girl  were  warming  themselves  at  a  fire  in  the 
lower  hall  of  the  old  manor-house. 

"  What's  the  matter,  my  dear  ?"  said  the  lady, 
perceiving  a  cloud  of  anger  on  the  wrinkled  brow 
of  her  husband. 

"  It's  these  rascals  that  I  caught  lying  in  ambush 
for  the  purpose  of  shooting  the  moor-cocks  that  I 
intend  for  the  christening." 

Hearing  this  Francis  tuined  his  attention  to  an 


m 


?11.  ■'■■**- 


88 


THE   GODFATHER. 


osier  cradle  in  which  a  rosy  infant  lay,  smiling 
through  its  sleep. 

"  What  a  lovely  child !"  said  he.  The  grateful 
mother  thanked  him  by  a  sweet  smile,  and  address- 
ing her  husband,  asked  him  if  he  would  not  have 
the  gentlemen  sit  down.^ 

"  You  might  as  well  ask  them  to  sup,"  he  replied 
in  a  tone  of  gruff  good-nature. 

'*  We  can  do  that,  too,  my  dear,"  said  the  wife ; 
"  Fm  glad  you  thought  of  it — these  gentlemen  must 
be  hungry,  for  the  mountain  air  is  sharp  and  keen." 

*'  Humph  !  if  the  rascals  eat  nothing  but  what  I 
offer  them,  I  warrant  it  won't  spoil  their  digestion 
to-night." 

"  You  speak  unthinkingly,  husband  !  for  you  your- 
self have  made  hospitality  the  rule  of  our  house. 
As  for  me,  I  am  only  sorry  that  I  have  nothing  bet- 
ter to  offer  them ;  if  I  had  only  been  apprised  of 
their  coming -" 

"  You  might  have  sent  them  an  invitation,  eh  ?" 

"Which  I  should  be  delighted  to  have  them 
accept,  for  they  certainly  look  like  real  gentlemen." 

"Ds -r  mo  !  how  ready  you  are  to  form  an  opinion !" 

"  I  iim  a  physio^iiomist,  you  know." 

"  You  are  often  mistaken,  though  !" 

"Never:  I  tell  you  those  young  men  carry  on 
their  faces  the  mark  of  high  birth,  and  their  manners 
are  those  of  well-bred  gentlemen." 

"  One  of  them  in  particular  has  a  confoundedly 
noble  name  so  illustrious  as" — Frantz   could  not 


iy1 


THE   GODFATHER. 


89 


miling 

rateful 
idress- 
t  have 

replied 

t  wife; 
)n  must 
keen." 
what  I 
Lgestion 

)u  your- 
'  house, 
ing  bet- 
L'ised  of 

eh?" 

e  them 

ilcmen." 


pmion  i 


!" 


?^i'Tj  on 
manners 

lundedly 
Mild  not 


finish  the  sentence — the  word  Toutcourt  was  lost  in 
a  loud  burst  of  laughter. 

III. 

During  this  dialogue  Francis  and  his  companion 
were  sitting  quite  at  their  ease  beside  the  lady  of 
the  house.  The  latter,  notwithstanding  her  hus- 
band's ill-humor,  called  one  of  her  servants  and  told 
her  to  serve  up  some  cold  meat,  a  venison  pie  a.id  a 
salad.  Francis  Toutcourt  had  quite  won  her  heart 
by  praising  her  child ;  »o  small  a  thing  will  reach 
the  heart  of  a  mother  !  Frantz,  on  the  other  hand, 
making  a  virt^ie  of  necessity,  went  down  to  the  cel- 
lar, and  soon  returned  with  a  collection  of  bottles, 
whose  venerable  appearance  gave  token  of  a  good 
old  age. 

Ilis  wife,  in  her  turn,  thanked  him  with  a  smile 
which  he  translated  by  these  words  :  "  Hospitality 
is  the  virtue  of  the  Austrian  people." 

"  Mr.  Francis  Toutcourt,"  said  he,  *'  take  my  wife's 
arm;  you,  sir,  whose  name  I  know  not,  take  my 
daugliter's,  and  let  us  go  to  supper." 

Little  by  little  the  brow  of  the  surly  husband  lost 
its  wrinkles  ;  at  every  mouthful,  unscrewing  his 
before  tightly-compressed  lips,  he  threw  out  a  kind 
word  ;  every  glasi=}  of  wine  filled  and  duly  discussed, 
softened  his  stern  aspect,  and  at  length  he  drew 
over  his  chair  which  at  first  he  had  intentionally 
placed  as  far  as  possible  from  his  guests. 

The  repast  duly  honored  by  the  healthy  and  vi- 


t:n':\ 


^H'l 


90 


THE   GODFATHER. 


gorous  appetite  of  the  young  men,  soon  became 
gayer  and  more  genial.  Frantz  had  entirely  forgot- 
ten his  moor-cocks. 

"  Well !  my  dear  Mr.  Toutcourt,"  said  he,  "  how 
do  you  find  that  little  Weuslau  ?" 

"  It  is  really  delicious,"  replied  Francis. 

"  It  is  almost  as  old  as  myself^ — it  dates  from  my 
father." 

"  Then  it  is  entitled  to  my  respect." 

"  I'll  be  bound  your  Emperor  drinks  none  better !" 

"  Better  ! — it  would  be  hard  for  him,  I  agree  with 
you." 

''  Gentlemen,  your  health  I" 

<'  Thanks  !  permit  us  to  pledge  your  lady  and  her 
children!" 

''And  we  would  drink  the  health  of  your  young 
Emperor,  sir,"  proposed  Madam  Frantz,  "  as  it 
seems  you  are  in  his  employment ;"  and  every  glass 
except  that  of  the  host  met  in  a  general  hob-nob. 

''  Why  is  it,  sir,"  said  the  young  man  whose  name 
was  unknown,  "  why  is  it  that  you  refuse  to  join  us 
in  drinking  the  health  of  our  young  sovereign  ?" 

"  Because  sovereigns  and  great  people  are  noth- 
ing but  in  grates."  ' 

•'  You  think  so,  sir  ?" 

''  I'm  as  sure  of  it  as  you  will  be  yourself  when 
you  have  grown  old  like  me  in  their  battle-harness." 

**  You  have  served  them  ?"  demanded  Francis. 

*'  Only  for  a  matter  of  twenty-six  years,  sir,  under 
the  Archduke  Charles,  who  is  still  my  debtor  for  a 


THE   GODFATHER. 


91 


came 
rgot- 

'how 


n  my 


tter  I" 
B  with 


nd  her 

young 

as  it 

glass 

ob. 

name 

oin  us 

9" 

noth- 


"when 
•ness." 
icis. 

under 

ir  for  a 


cross  promised  in  exchange  for  the  blood  I  shed 
under  the  eagles  of  the  House  of  Austria." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  that  of  all  your  cam- 
paigns nothing  remains  to  you  but  their  recollection?" 
"  And  the  rheumatism — my  respects  to  you,  dear 
Mr.  Toutcourt.'* 

"  Thanks,  good  sir !  But  why  do  you  not  apply 
directly  to  the  Emperor  ?  it  devolves  on  him  to 
discharge  the  country's  oMigations." 

"  The  Emperor  is  no  better  than  the  rest  of  them. 
Sovereigns  aad  great  people  are  great  in  grates." 

"  For  pity's  sake,  my  dear  !  do  not  speak  so  of 
our  Emperor  !  Only  think  if  he  were  to  hear  you !" 
cried  Madam  Frantz. 

*' It  wouldn't  trouble  me  much  if  he  did.  Indeed 
I'd  be  well  pleased  if  he  was  within  hearing,  for  I'd 
give  him  a  little  more  of  my  mind.  However,  as 
these  gentlemen  belong  to  the  concern,  they  may 
do  for  me  what  I  can't  do  for  myself — ^I  give  them 
full  power  of  attorney.  Nevertheless,"  added  Frantz, 
"  I  don't  mind  if  you  tell  him  when  you  are  about 
it,  that  if  ever  he  has  need  of  the  old  soldier,  the  old 
soldier  has  still  a  good  sword  in  its  scabbard,  some 
good  hearty  blood  in  his  veins,  and  a  cub  of  the 
masculine  gender  there  in  the  cradle,  all  very  much 
at  his  service." 

"  Very  good,  very  good,  my  dear  !"  said  the  vet- 
eran's wife,  "  there  spoke  once  more  my  noble,  gen- 
erous husband !" 
"  It's  all  the  same,"  resumed  Frantz,  ''  that  doesn't 


l?S^fl^ 

r"^ 

"  1 

1  - .'!  ,' 

'IH 

■;,'■ 

{ 

;  /• 


09 


TIIK    UODFATIIKK. 


hiiidor  sovoicigna  aiul  great  pooplo  from  being ^';v/f 


iiignitcs. 


») 


"llavo  you  hooii  our  young  Kovcreign,  grntlo- 
men  ?"  in<{uircd  Madam  Krantz, 

*'  Very  ofton,  madam/*  answered  Mr.  Toutcourt. 

**  Ih  it  true  that  he  is  as  handsome  as  good,  and 
^nerous  as  brave?" 

ire  is  yet  too  young,  madam,  to  hazard  an  opi- 
nion in  his  regard  which  the  i'uture  might  belie;  all 
that  lie  authorizes  us  to  believe  is  that  lie  loves  his 
people  as  a  good  iatlier  loves  liis  children — that 
their  h:ij)piness  is  liis  sole  desire — that  he  hates 
both  injustice  and  ingratitude,  linally,  that  he  is 
actuated  by  the  best  intentions." 

"Well!  since  such  is  his  character,  why  not  drink 
his  health  again?  I  am  sure,  gentlemen,  that  my 
hu?>band  will  not,  now  refuse  to  join  us." 

'Til  give  Ihis  toast  myself,"  said  Frantz,  and 
standing  up,  glass  in  hand,  in  that  full  sonorous 
voice  accustomed  to  make  itself  heard  over  the  diu 
of  battle,  he  said  with  visible  emotion: 

*'  To  our  young  Emperor  Francis  Joseph  !  may 
the  God  of  armies  be  his  aid,  and  establisii  liim  se- 
curely on  his  throne  now  shaken  by  the  storm  of 
Revolution !  May  the  nations  he  rules  united  in 
one  feeling  of  love  and  fidelity  make  him  a  ram- 
part of  their  bosoms  and  prepare  their  voices  to 
repeat  in  the  day  of  danger,  if  God  was  pleased  to 
send  us  new^  trials,  the  old  faithful  cry : 

*' '  Moriamur  pro  rcgc  nostro.^  " 


* 


TUB   OODFATIIKR.  ^ 

"In  our  Einpcror^H  iijinio  I  uccopl,  the  toaHt," 
jinswcM-od  KranciH  Toiitt^oiirl  touching  jrlasHCH  with 
his  hoHt,  "  permit  um  Ut  ^\\v  in  return:  TUa  iieuhJi 
ol"  Mr.  Krantz  and  liiH  eharrnini^  family,  and  the  din- 
charg(^  of  the  sacked  debt  whieii  the  Ar(;hduko 
iJliarleH  and  the  country  owe  him." 

''Thanks,  Mr.  Touteouit,"  rejilied  Krantz  aftcir 
emptying  his  j^hiKs  and  turning  it  upHide  dowri  on 
tlie  hoard.  "  l^Vn-n  thin  Tn(t merit  I  abandon  my 
pur|>oHe  of  eomj)!;       ug  of  you  to  the  Kmjieror." 

"  I  thank  you  a  thouHand  timers  for  the  favor  you 
do  me,  Hir:  you  wouhl  Inive  a  Htiil  higher  title  to 
my  gratitude  by  granting  me  another." 

"  What  is  tliat,  HirV" 

"  I  think  you  said  that  your  infant  was  not  yet 
baptized." 

"  We'll  have  to  wait  awhile  before  his  intended 
godfather  comes,  for,  liaving  been  unaccountably 
prevailed  upon  to  take  i)art  in  the  Hungarian  rebel- 
lion, he  was  condemned  to  two  years'  imprisonment." 

•'  la  he  a  relative  of  yours  ?" 

"  He  is  my  wife's  brother." 

"  You  will  tell  me  his  name  and  I  will  have  some 
powerful  friends  of  mine  recommend  him  to  the 
Emperor's  clemency.  Meanwhile,  do  me  the  favor 
to  let  me  take  his  place." 

"  In  the  fortress  ?"  cried  Frantz  laughing. 

"  Not  quite  that,"  answered  Francis,  ''  but  in  the 
pious  office  he  was  to  fill,  in  standing  godfather  for 
vour  child.'* 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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94 


THE   GODFATHER. 


»?'■ 


.1     '  )■ 


"  I  should  willingly  consent,  I  am  free  to  ov^n,  if 
your  name  was  only  a  little " 

Madam  Frantz,  suddenly  interrupting  her  hus- 
band, finished  the  sentence  in  her  own  way,  and 
said :  "  Sir,  we  are  proud  to  accept  the  honor  you 
are  pleased  to  do  us." 

**  When  is  the  affair  to  come  off?" 

"  Ai^  soon  as  possible." 

"  On  Sunday  next  ?" 

"  His  Majesty's  service  permitting,*'  said  Frantz. 

"  Oh !  as  to  that,  I  will  undertake  to  get  leave  of 
absence.  By-the-bye,  madam,  I  hope  you  will  give 
me  a  pretty  gossip  ?" 

"  My  young  sister  whom  I  expect  from  Prague.'* 

"If  she  only  resembles  you,  madam,  I  shall  be 
quite  content." 

The  young  mother  thanked  him  a  second  time  by 
a  smile  no  less  gracious  than  the  first ;  it  takes  so 
little  to  reach  a  woman's  heart ! 

Time  flies  quickly  at  a  good  table  with  good  com- 
pany. Frantz  paid  another  visit  to  the  cellar  while 
his  old  housekeeper,  Susan,  brought  in  the  dessert. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Toutcourt,"  said  he  coming  up 
again,  "  do  you  like  the  French  wines  ?" 

"  I  would  be  hard  to  please  if  I  did  not  esteem 
them  according  to  their  merit." 

"Have  you  ever  drank  a  red  wine  they  call 
'  Hermitage  ?" 

"  I  think  I  have,  but  still  I  am  not  certain -" 

"  Well,  my  dear  sir,  you  tvill  be  certain  in  a  mo- 


THE   GODFATHER. 


95 


ov^n,  if 

Br  hus- 
ly,  and 
lor  you 


?rantz. 
leave  of 
vrill  give 

*rague.'* 
shall  be 

time  by 
akes  so 

»d  com- 
ir  while 
lessert. 
ling  up 

esteem 

|ey  call 

a  mo- 


ment's  time,  for  I  am  going  to  have  the  honor  of 
offering  you  a  glass  at  which  our  young  monarch 
himself  might  not  turn  up  his  nose." 

"My  dear,  how  can  you  make  use  of  such  an 
expression  speaking  of  the  Emperor  ?"  said  his  wife. 

"  I  brought  that  word  from  France  with  my  rheu- 
matism :  pardon — excuse  me  if  this  French  wine  put 
it  in  my  mouth  again."  Decidedly  the  old  soldier 
was  beginning  to  be  a  little  obfuscated ;  he  was  so 
intent  on  his  glass  that  he  did  not  notice  the.  warn- 
ing glances  of  liis  wife. 

"  My  very  good  sir,"  said  he  to  his  neighbor  on 
the  left,  "  permit  me  to  give  you  a  friendly  advice." 

"  I  shall  be  happy  to  take  it  if  it  be  good." 

"  You  said  you  had  some  influence  at  court." 

"  I  say  so  still." 

"  Well !  since  you  are  to  have  the  honor  of  stand- 
ing godfather  for  my  young  one,  do  try  and  get  per- 
mission to  change  your  name — for  decidedly  it  is 
not  to  my  liking,  I  tell  you  that  frankly." 

"  I  promise  to  do  your  bidding." 

*'  Here's  to  you,  then,  Mr.  Toutcourt ;  you  have 
an  awkward  name  of  your  own,  but  you  are  a  good 
poo — I  mean  a  good  fellow." 

"  You  must  excuse  my  husband,"  said  the  mis- 
tress of  the  mansion,  "  he  brought  all  sorts  of  stuff 
from  France  with  him." 

**Not  including  that  wine,  madam?  for  better 
could  not  be  had,  though  it  does  come  from  France," 
observed  Oscar,  the  companion  of  Francis  Toutcourt. 


96 


THE  GODFATHER. 


m' 


l:  m 


IV. 

Just  then  Madam  Frantz,  taking  Toutcourt's  arm 
without  ceremony,  gave  the  signal  for  retiring,  and 
they  all  repaired  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Elcvida 
soon  after  did  the  honors  to  some  excellent  Mocha. 

Whilst  Frantz  enjoyed  by  himself  what  ho  called 
his  grace-cup,  the  two  young  men  made  a  survey 
of  the  apartment,  which  was  simply  but  tastefully 
adorned.  .  , 

On  a  handsome  piano  lay  a  new  piece  by  Verdi. 
Two  full  length  portraits  of  the  master  and  mistress 
of  the  mansion  hung  on  opposite  sides  of  the  room, 
the  walls  of  which  were  covered  with  white  and 
gold  paper;  the  furniture  consisted  of  a  divan,  six 
arm-chairs  and  twelve  chairs  in  Utrecht  velvet, 
carefully  covered  over  with  white.  A  beautiful 
flower-vase  of  Dresden  china  stood  on  an  elegant 
gilt  stand  between  two  windows  that  opened  on 
the  garden. 

"  What  is  this  charming  female  portrait  ?'*  asked 
Oscar  approaching  a  medallion  that  hung  at  one 
angle  of  the  fireplace. 

*'  That's  a  story,"  answered  Frantz,  delighted  to 
be  able  to  commence  without  further  preamble  the 
everlasting  story  which  he  managed  to  slip  in 
everywhere.         - 

"  A  story  is  just  the  thing  to  finish  this  pleasant 
,  evening,"  said  Oscar.  "  Would  you  be  kind  enough 
to  let  us  hear  it,  sir  ?" 


THE  GODFATHER. 


9T 


Frantz,  who  only  wanted  to  be  asked,  imme- 
diately commenced  as  follows : 

"In  the  worst  days  of  the  Republic,  when  the 
honor  of  the  French  nation,  tramj^led  down  by  un- 
bridled mobocracy,  took  refuge  under  the  banners 
of  the  army,  the  squadron  to  which  I  belonged  was 
manojuvring  on  the  Rhine,  combining  its  move- 
ments with  the  army  of  Conde.  Amongst  the 
number  of  braves  who  formed  that  select  corps  of 
gentlemen,  serving,  for  the  most  part,  in  the  ranks, 
there  was  a  young  officer  with  whom  I  was  united 
by  the  closest  bonds  of  friendship.  The  Marquis  de 
Surcyl  was  one  of  the  finest  types  of  that  chivalric 
character,  which  has  borne  far  and  wide  the  glory 
of  the  French  name.  The  marquis  had  been  one  of 
the  first  to  emigrate  to  fight  in  a  foreign  land — not 
a  country  which  he  still  loved  devotedly — but  the 
revolution  which,  after  sweeping  away  the  throne 
of  its  kings,  had  inaugurated  the  reign  of  terror. 
Brave  amongst  the  brave,  he  signalized  himself  at 
every  encounter  with  the  Republicans  by  that  bril- 
liant courage  that  everywhere  distinguishes  the 
French  soldier.  When  a  conqueror  he  cried :  *  Vive 
le  roil'  when  conquered,  he  rejoiced  in  the  depth 
of  his  heart  that  his  countrymen  had  gained  the 
victory,  and  then  he  cried  '  Vive  la  France !'  A 
noble  and  generous  heart  had  the  Marquis  de 
Lurcyl ! 

"  On  a  day  of  victory  dearly  purchased  by  the  loss 
of  the  flower  of  the  royalist  army,  the  marquis 


I'"/ 


k : . 


m- 


A.  ' 

w- 

f 

1 

'   1; 

|1    ' 

i^  ^  ' 

m  ^ 

III.; 

98 


THE   GODFATHER. 


found  amongst  a  number  of  republican  prisoners 
the  denouncer  of  his  father  who  died  on  the  scaf- 
fold. The  first  emotion  following  on  the  recogni- 
tion was  terrible.  *I  find  you  again,  then,  base 
assassin!'  cried  the  marquis  darting  on  the  de- 
nouncer— ^but  immediately  perceiving  that  he  had 
no  arms  to  defend  himself,  he  suddenly  added  in  a 
calmer  tone : 

"  *  You  are  unfortunate  and  a  prisoner — I  respect 
your  misfortune  and  your  person.  I  will  forgive 
and  forget  until  such  time  as,  freed  again  by  the 
chances  of  war,  you  are  in  a  condition  to  give  me 
the  satisfaction  I  have  a  right  to  expect  from  the 
murderer  of  my  father.' 

"  *  I  am  ready  to  offer  it  this  very  day,'  answered 
the  republican  oflicer. 

"  *  I  cannot  accept  it,  for  I  consider  the  person  of 
a  prisoner  as  sacred '  , 


"  *  You  are  very  generous,  citizen- 


"  *  And  you  are  i^w-generous  to  insult  me  at  a 
moment  like  this  with  a  title  which  your  butchers, 
in  France  have  rendered  so  disgraceful !' 

*  '  Would  you  rather  I  should  call  you 
aristocrat?^ 

"  '  That  name  is,  at  least,  unstained  with  blood — 
but  enough,  sir !  no  recrimination,  for  I  say  again, 
we  two  could  not  meet  on  equal  terms.  We  shall 
meet  again * 

"  '  When  you  please.' 

^'For  many  months  afler  the  republican  officer, 


THE   OODFATHER. 


99 


who  was  brave  too,  awaited  the  hour  that  was  to 
place  him  sword  in  hand  before  his  adversary  whom 
withal  he  could  not  help  esteeming,  for  never  since 
the  conversation  I  have  just  repeated  had  the  mar- 
quis made  the  slightest  allusion  to  their  relative 
position.  He  even  carried  so  far  the  respect  due 
to  unsuccessful  courage,  that  he  more  than  once 
sent  sums  of  money  secretly  to  his  countryman 
whom  he  knew  to  be  utterly  destitute  of  means. 
Oh!  yes,  truly  he  was  as  generous  as  noble  that 
young  Marquis  de  Surcyl ! 

"  One  day  the  marquis  received  by  a  secret  agent 
news  of  his  family.  He  had  pressed  to  his  heart 
and  to  his  lips  a  letter  from  his  wife,  and,  as  he 
read  it,  the  tears  stood  in  his  eyes.  I  happened  to 
be  in  his  tent  a  silent  witness  of  happiness  that 
must  be  felt  in  order  to  be  understood.  At  that 
moment  the  republican  officer  made  his  appearance 
with  a  free  and  joyous  aspect. 

" '  What  brings  you  here,  sir  V  asked  the  marquis 
quickly. 

"'Three  things,  citizen — ^I  mean,  my  lord  mar- 
quis!* 

"  *  Speak,  then,  and  be  brief!' 

*'  *  Primo :  I  come  to  thank  you  for  a  fact  that 
does  you  honor  and  which  I  have  only  learned  this 
morning,  too  late,  consequently,  to  refuse  what  you 
sent  me  with  admirable  generosity.' 

"  *  Secundo :  I  come  to  pay  you  back  the  ten  louis 
you  lent  me.' 


/ 


lOO 


THE   GODFATHER. 


G  '■•. 


t :  1, 


R!  T, 


m 


: 


m^ 


" '  Tertio :  I  come  to  place  mysel^  at  your  disposal, 
in  other  words,  to  offer  you  the  satisfaction  you  have 
asked  of  me.' 

"  *  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  free,  sir  ?' 

"  *  Since  this  morning ' 

"  *  I  congratulate  you,  sir,  for  liberty  is  a  holy 
thing  when  it  is  not  impregnated  with  crime  and 
blood — it  is  so  sweet  to  see  France  again.' 

"  *  You  can  see  it  to-night,  if  you  wish.* 

"  *  As  a  butcher,  is  it  not  ?' 

"  *  Do  not  insult  me,  sir,  but  read.'  So  saying 
the  republican  officer  presented  the  marquis  with  a 
passport  conceived  as  follows  : 

"  *  In  reward  for  the  services  rendered  the  country 
by  citizen  Melcour,  we  accede  to  his  request  in  fur- 
nishing the  ex-Marquis  de  Surcyl,  now  in  the  camp 
of  the  so-called  army  of  Conde,  this  passport,  good 
for  fifteen  days — we  also  request  the  civil  and  mili- 
tary authorities  to  give  him  aid  and  succor  in  case 
of  need.' 

.  "  *  Signed :  The  representatives  of  the  people  delegated 
to  the  army  of  the  Rhine ^  and  the  General-in-Chief  oj 
said  army? 

" '  I  thank  you,  sir,'  said  the  marquis,  *  for  having 
read  my  thoughts,  and  anticipated  my  desire.  I 
shall  be  indebted  to  you  for  the  consolation  of  fall- 
ing on  the  soil  of  France  if  the  fate  of  arms  is  against 
me.' 

"  The  frontier  line  was  but  a  short  distance  from 
where  Conde's  array  was  encamped.    The  marquis 


THE   GODFATHER. 


101 


requested  me  to  act  as  his  second,  I  accepted  the 
honor,  and  we  both  obtained  a  furlough  of  48  hours : 
five  sufficed  to  take  us  into  France. 

*'  As  soon  as  the  marquis  stepped  on  his  native 
soil,  he  sprang  from  his  horse,  and  bending  towards 
his  country,  cried :  *  Vive  la  France  !'  Oh  yes  !  his 
was  a  great  soul  and  a  noble  heart !  The  terms  of 
the  combat  were  speedily  arranged.  The  sword 
was  chosen  by  both  parties  with  one  accord. 

"  Before  crossing  swords,  the  marquis,  taking  me 
aside,  gave  me  the  portrait  you  have  just  been  ad- 
miring, together  with  a  letter  which  I  have  carefully 
preserved.'*  So  saying,  Frantz  opened  a  small  cab- 
met  of  setim  wood,  and  taking  out  a  green  mo- 
rocco pocket-book,  he  showed  a  letter  sealed  with 
the  arms  of  the  Marquis  de  Surcyl.  "  I  know  what 
it  contains,"  said  Frantz,  from  the  conversation  I 
had  with  the  marquis  just  before  the  meeting :  it 
contains  the  farewell  of  a  husband  to  his  wife,  for, 
foreseeing  the  chances  of  the  affair  being  fatal  to 
him,  he  had  charged  me  to  send  to  France  with  the 
letter  that  portrait  of  the  Marchioness,  being  unwil- 
ling that  the  image  of  the  wife  he  had  loved  so  well 
should  remain  after  him  in  a  foreign  land.  You  see 
how  firmly  rooted  was  the  love  of  country  in  that 
pure  and  noble  heart. 

"  It  was  eight  in  the  evening — ^but,  as  it  was  mid- 
summer, the  setting  sun  still  gave  sufficient  light  to 
the  fatal  scene  which  I  was  about  to  witness,  the 
two  adversaries,  after  exchanging  a  courteous  salute 


'J 


f- 


H  '**, 


M 


■ill 

UK 


.1 


ir.- 


pii 


m 


I  [i 


102 


THE   GODFATHER. 


with  the  point  of  their  swords,  put  themselves  on 
the  defensive,  and  crossed  steel  with  great  vivacity. 
They  seemed  to  be  equally  skilled  in  arms,  and  pos- 
sessed of  equal  coolness.  Wounded  slightly  in  the 
arm  the  marquis  bound  up  the  wound  with  his 
handkerchief  and  would  continue  the  combat.  *  We 
are.no  longer  equal,'  said  the  republican  officer,  *let 
us  adjourn  till  the  15th.'  *  It  is  only  a  scratch,* 
said  the  marquis.  Some  moments  after,  the  repub- 
lican, struck  in  the  breast,  added :  '  The  chances  are 
now  equal,'  and  instantly  crossing  steel  again  with 
impetuosity,  each  ra»his  sword  through  the  other 
to  the  very  hilt.  .  .  .  The  marquis  and  the  republi- 
can were  buried  on  the  same  day  in  the  cemetery 
of  a  small  French  village. 

"  Every  effort  I  made  since  that  sad  event  to  fulfil 
the  last  wish  of  the  marquis  has  proved  unsuccess- 
ful. I  have  never  been  able  to  forward  the  portrait 
and  the  letter  to  their  address.  I  went  myself  to 
France  for  the  sole  purpose  of  executing  my  com- 
mission, but  even  in  that  I  was  doomed  to  disap- 
pointment— I  could  find  no  traces  Oi"  the  family  of 
De  Surcyl !" 

*  Midnight  already  ?"  cried  Francis,  replacing  the 
medallion  on  the  gilt  nail  from  which  it  had  been 
hanging,  "  permit  us,  madam !  to  thank  you  for  your 
graceful  hospitality  and  retire." 

"  Not  yet,  gentlemen,"  replied  Frantz,  "  you  are 
ours  till  to-morrow:  your  apartment  is  ready — I 
will  conduct  you  to  it — unless — now  I  think  of  it — 


THE   GODFATHER. 


103 


unless  you  would  prefer  paying  a  visit  to  my  heath- 
cocks." 

"You  anticipate  our  wish  and  the  request  we 
were  about  to  make,  Mr.  Frantz." 

"  Well !  be  sure  you  leave  us  enough  for  the 
christening!  Anyhow,  I  wish  you  good  sport, 
gentlemen !" 

"  You  will  not  denounce  us  this  time  to  the  Em- 
peror ?" 
"  Unless  you  fail  us  on  Sunday  next." 
"  N"o  fear  of  that — good-bye  till  then !" 
The  two  young  men  bowed  to  the  ladies,  and  ex- 
changing a  friendly  shake-hands  with  their  host, 
they  took  leave  of  the  interesting  family  who  had 
received  them  so  cordially. 

.     .  V. 

On  the  following  Sunday,  from  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  an  unusual  bustle  took  place  in  the  modest 
dwelling  of  the  Styrian  squire.  From  the  kitchen 
to  the  parlor  all  was  in  festive  order.  Suzon,  the 
old  housekeeper,  assisted  by  several  subordinates, 
placed  in  array  along  the  walls  of  the  kitchen  a 
goodly  row  of  copper  utensils,  and  watched  with 
vestal  care  the  fire  of  her  furnace  and  ovens.  Madam 
Frantz  and  her  daughter  Elevida,  seated  at  their 
toilet,  did  their  best  to  appear  to  good  advantage 
before  the  darling  baby's  godfather.  In  a  neighbor- 
ing chamber,  a  young  girl  as  graceful  and  pretty  as 
her  name,  Clarissa,  having  arrived  over  night  from 


:j.   • 


;;-5  J 


f!f       j 


t  1 


104 


THE   GODFATHER. 


Prague,  was  preparing  bouquets  for  the  ladies  in- 
vited. The  old  soldier  was  inspecting  the  state  of 
his  cellar,  whistling  as  he  went,  and  smiling  with 
marked  satisfaction  at  the  long  file  of  ancient  bottles 
ranged  in  battle  array.  He  had  donned,  for  the 
occasion,  his  old  captain's  uniform,  minus,  alas !  of 
the  cross  promised  him  by  the  Archduke  Charles — 
busy  as  the  day  was,  he  could  not  help  calling  his 
wife  now  and  then  to  tell  her  :  "  Decidedly  sovereigns 
and  great  people  are  but  great  ingrates." 

The  baptismal  ceremony  was  to  take  place  at  ten 
o'clock  within  the  manor.  Clarissa  had  but  to 
breathe  on  the  little  chapel  to  make  it  a  scene  of 
beauty. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  watch-dogs  announced  by 
their  loud  barking,  the  arrival  by  different  roads  of 
the  company  so  anxiously  expected:  on  one  side, 
the  reverend  pastor  and  the  notabilities  of  the  vil- 
lage ;  on  the  other,  Mr.  Francis  Toutcourt  and  three 
friends  whom  he  presented  to  Madam  Frantz. 
The  priest  figured  in  a  new  soutane  and  girdle; 
Francis,  and  his  friends,  ajDpeared  in  plain  black 
frocks. 

"  Well !  dear  Mr.  Francis,"  said  Frantz  after  the 
usual  greetings  and  introductions,  "  did  you  succeed 
with  his  Majesty  ?  Did  he  authorize  you  to  change 
your  name  ?" 

"  The  very  day  of  my  return  to  Vienna." 

«' Without  diflaculty  ?" 

"  Without  any  difficulty." 


THE   GODFATHER. 


105 


"  That  surprises  me,"  said  Frrntz,  looking  down 
at  the  vacant  place  on  his  uniform,  "  for  the  Arch- 
duke Charles,  I  mean  the  great,  and  sovereigns  are 
neither  more  nor  less  than— 


»> 


Madam  Frantz  interrupted  the  phrase  so  com- 
menced by  introducing  Francis  to  his  pretty  gossip. 

"  She  is  like  yourself,  charming,  madam  !'*  said 
Francis  bowing. 

At  ten  o'clock  precisely,  all  the  company  assem- 
bled in  the  parlor,  moved  in  due  order  to  the 
chapel.  Francis,  standing  by  Clarissa,  who  was 
dressed  in  white,  took  the  child  in  his  armi:.,  and 
the  priest  proceeded  immediately  to  celebrate  the 
baptism.  The  most  religious  silence  reigned  in  the 
chapel,  when  the  priest  in  a  loud,  clear  voice, 
addressed  these  questions  to  the  godfather : 

"  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"  Francis  Joseph." 

"  I  like  that  better  than  Toutcourt,"  said  Frantz 
aside  to  his  wife. 

"  Francis  Joseph,"  added  the  priest,  "  of  what  reli- 
gion are  you  ?" 

"  Of  the  Catholic,  Apostolic  and  Roman  religion." 

"  What  is  your  profession  ?" 

"I  have  none." 

"  What  is  your  style  and  dignity?" 

"Emperor  of  Austria." 

At  these  words  a  murmur  of  surprise  and  pleas- 
ure ran  through  the  auditory.  Mr.  and  Madam 
Frantz  fell  on  their  knees  before  the  youthful  mon- 


Ih. 


'•J 


- 1 


'41, \ 


I 


I 

liiii 


1:' 


ii^i;:. 


W'-'i 


106 


THE   GODFATHER. 


arch,  pronouncing  in  a  low  voice,  through  respect 
for  the  sacred  place,  the  cry  of  "  God  save  the  Em- 
peror !" — the  priest  alone  checking  the  emotion 
which,  nevertheless,  made  his  cheek  ashy  pale,  con- 
tinued the  pious  ceremony  as  if  nothing  unusual  had 
occurred.  Clarissa,  the  gentle  gossip  of  the  Em- 
peror, was  so  agitated  that  her  imperial  neighbor 
was  obliged  to  whisper  to  her  the  responses  to  the 
questions  of  the  priest. 

"  Well !  my  brave  Frantz,"  asked  Francis  Joseph, 
when,  after  the  ceremony,  the  company  was  again 
assembled  in  the  parlor,  "  are  you  satisfied  with  the 
name  his  Majesty  permitted  me  to  give  your  child  ?" 

"  A  thousand  blessings  on  you.  Sire  !  this  day  is 
the  happiest  of  my  life !" 

*'  By-the-bye,  my  brave!"  resumed  Francis  Joseph, 
"the  Emperor  charged  me  to  pay  the  Archduke 
Charles'  debt  with  interest — there  is  what  he  desired 
me  to  give  you :"  and  with  his  own  hand  he  hung 
around  the  neck  of  the  retired  captain  a  major's 
cross.  The  effect  produced  by  this  scene  is  easier 
conceived  than  described.  The  emotion  became 
general,  when  the  young  Emperor,  addressing  to 
all  some  words  of  kindness,  gave  each  a  token  of  his 
munificence :  "  My  pretty  little  gossip,"  said  he  to 
Clarissa,  seating  himself  at  the  table  between  her 
and  the  mistress  of  the  house,  "  accept,  in  remem- 
brance of  me,  this  ring  for  yourself,  and  that  other  for 
your  future  husband."    The  ring  for  Clarissa  was  en- 


THE   GODFATHER. 


lOT 


riched  with  brilliants,  and  bore  the  Emperor's  initials; 
the  other  was  of  equal  value.  "  As  for  you,  madam," 
said  he  to  his  neighbor  on  the  other  side — handing 
her  at  the  same  time  a  rich  present — ''  I  have  the 
pleasure  of  announcing  to  you  a  visit  for  to-morrow." 

"  Who  is  the  visitor,  Sire  ?" 

"  Your  brother,  who  is  to-day  to  leave  the  fortress 
of  OUmutz,  to  take  his  place  again  in  my  army.*' 

Madam  Frantz  could  only  answer  with  her  tears. 

"  Only  look,  gentlemen,  at  this  beautiful  portrait," 
said  one  of  the  young  officers  of  the  Emperor's  suit, 
pointing  to  the  medallion  hanging  over  the  fireplace. 

"It  is  charming  indeed,"  said  Oscar.  "I  have 
admired  it  before."  , 

"  My  God !  what  a  likeness  !"  suddenly  exclaimed 
the  third  officer,  a  fine  young  man  about  eight  and 
twenty,  one  of  the  numerous  French  gentlemen  serv- 
mg  in  the  squares  of  the  Austrian  army.  Then  ap- 
proaching Frantz,  who  was  just  saying  to  his  wife : 
"  Sovereigns  and  great  people  are  not  all  great  in- 
grates,"  he  asked  in  an  agitated  voice  how  he  came 
by  the  portrait  in  question. 

"  That's  a  story  which  I  propose  to  tell  you  be- 
tween the  coffee  and  the  punch,"  answered  Frantz, 
delighted  to  have  an  excuse,  "  but  I'll  willingly  tell 
it  to  you  now,  and  the  other  gentlemen  can  hear  it 
at  more  length  in  the  evening,"  and,  word  for  word, 
he  told  him  the  story  as  I  have  told  it  to  the  reader. 
He  was  interrupted,  every  few  moments,  by  excla- 
mations of  surprise  and  sympathy  from  the  French 


.'■)■. 


108 


THE   GODFATHER. 


U'. 


I: 

w 


Hi*' 

if 


lii 


gentlemen.  "  This  good  company  will  be  surprised, 
no  doubt,  to  hear,"  said  he  when  the  story  was 
brought  to  a  close,  "that  the  Marquis  de  Surcyl 
was  my  father  and  the  original  of  that  portrait  my 
mother !" 

"  I  knew  it,"  replied  the  Emperor,  "  and  it  was  in 
order  to  put  our  brave  Frantz  in  the  way  of  dis- 
charging your  father's  commission,  that  I  requested 
you  to  accompany  me  here  to-day." 

Three  months  after  the  baptism  of  the  little  Fran- 
cis Joseph  Frantz  the  principal  personages  of  our 
little  drama  were  assembled  in  one  of  the  saloons 
of  the  Imperial  Castle  of  Schcennbrun.  The  ricli 
gift  from  the  Emperor  to  his  godson  was  placed  on 
a  table,  and  near  it  lay  a  marriage  contract  which 
only  awaited  the  signature  of  the  contracting  parties 
and  their  witnesses.  Frantz  had  got  a  new  uniform 
made  on  purpose  to  do  honor  to  the  cross  of  which 
he  was  so  justly  proud.  His  face  was  beaming  with 
joy  and  he  looked  full  ten  years  younger.  Elevida 
and  Clarissa,  robed  in  white,  looked  like  two  blush- 
ing May  roses,  but  Elevida  wore  a  nuptial  veil  and 
a  wreath  of  orange  blossoms.  Francis  Joseph 
presented  both  to  the  Archduchess  Sophia,  his 
august  mother ;  he  then  afiixed  his  name  to  the  doc- 
ument which  was  to  secure  the  happiness  of  the  fair 
Elevida  and  the  French  marquis.  The  same  day  the 
lovers  were  united  in  the  sacred  bond  of  marriage. 

"  It  is  my  turn  now,  my  brave  Frantz,"  said  the 
Emperor  to  the  captain,  "  to  ask  a  favor  of  you." 


THE   GODFATHER. 


109 


mrprised, 
tory  was 
le  Surcyl 
rtrait  my 

[  it  was  in 
ly  of  dis- 
requested 

ttle  Fran- 
ces of  our 
le  saloons 
The  rich 
placed  on 
ract  which 
mg  parties 
sw  uniform 
3  of  which 
.rning  with 
Elevida 
two  blush- 
al  veil  and 
8    Joseph 
ophia,  his 
to  the  doc- 
of  the  fair 
me  day  the 
marriage. 
,"  said  the 
of  you." 


"  Speak,  Sire  !  all  I  possess  is  at  your  Majesty's 
service !  my  life,  my  fortune,  my  blood,  my  family, 
all  belong  to  you." 

"  Even  your  heath-cocks  ?" 

"  Sire !  what  does  your  Majesty  deign  to  wish?** 

"  Permission  to  shoot  on  your  lands,  for  my  first 
excursion  thither  made  me  very  happy." 

"  How  so.  Sire  ?" 

"By  giving  me  an  opportunity  of  paying  the 
Archduke's  debt  to  you  and  at  the  same  time  re- 
warding the  noble  conduct  of  a  brave  and  loyal 
soldier." 

"  It  must  be  owned.  Sire,  that  the  first  piill  pro- 
cured you  a  famous  shot.  I  have  often  made  a 
dofuhle  shot^  but  it  is  only  an  Emperor  that  can  make 
a  triple  shot,'''* 

'  You  are  mistaken,  my  brave,  I  could  only  see  one 
heath-cock  to  kill." 

"  But  under  the  wings  of  that  bird,  sent  from 
heaven,  doubtless,  there  was  a  godfather,  a  husband 
and  a  decoration — a  triple  sJiot,  Sire  !" 

In  exchange  for  the  license  grant '^d  by  Frantz  to 
the  Emperor,  Frantz  received  pern  don  to  add  a 
moor-cock  to  his  arms,  with  the  additional  device : 
a  triple  shot,  \ 


MOTHER    MATHUSALEM'S 


ili 


EASTER   EGG. 


wt 


m 


m  ■  J 


m 


'i-is 


Before  the  old  suburbs  of  Paris  were  destroyed,  there 
was,  in  the  nighborhood  of  the  Hotel-de-Yille,  a  dark 
five-story  house,  where  lived  in  retirement  and  the  prac- 
tice of  religion  a  woman  so  old  and  so  time-worn,  that 
the  boys  of  the  neighborhood  called  her  Mother  Mathu- 
salem.  Tliis  good  woman,  renowned  for  her  piety  and 
good  works,  was  a  problem  of  good  luck  for  her  neigh- 
bors, who  would  have  been  sometimes  tempted  to  offer 
her  a  sou,  while  on  other  occasions  they  would  have  com- 
pared her  to  the  widow  of  Cresus,  rather  than  the  heiress 
of  Mathusalem.  The  fact  is,  she  often  found  in  her  inex- 
haustible charity  resources  altogether  incompatible  with 
the  simplicity  of  her  dress  and  the  kind  of  life  she  led  in 
the  interior  of  her  household.  She  carried  domestic 
economy  so  far  that  she  was  seen  every  morning  regular- 
ly, at  seven  o'clock,  going  herself  to  the  corner  grocery 
and  the  fruit-woman's  stall,  for  the  milk,  butter,  and  eggs 
to  serve  her  during  the  day.  The  neighbor  women  used 
to  make  a  cross  on  the  chimney  every  time  thej  saw  her 


MOTHER  MATHUSALKM*S    EASTER   EGG. 


Ill 


M'S 


yed,  there 
le,  a  dark 
I  the  prac- 
ivorn,  that 
er  Mathu- 
piety  and 
her  neigh- 
i  to  oifer 
have  com- 
the  heiress 
1  her  inex- 
itible  with 
she  led  in 

domestic 
ig  regular- 
er  grocery 

and  eggs 
omen  used 

saw  her 


in  a  new  gown  or  a  new  bonnet.  One  of  them,  who  had 
known  her  from  childhiod,  was  in  the  habit  of  saying 
that  her  black  Sunday  gown  had  figured  in  her  marriage- 
basket  ;  but  it  was  a  positive  fact  that  her  venerable 
umbrella,  pieced  at  every  seam,  dated  from  the  honey- 
moon. 

However  that  might  be,  Mother  Mathusalem  was  the 
comfort  of  all  the  afflicted,  the  providence  of  all  the  poor, 
the  counsel,  the  harmony,  the  mender  of  hrohm  house- 
holds, the  St.  Vincent  de  Paul,  in  petticoats,  of  that 
neighborhood.  She  was  so  ready  and  so  ingenious  in 
guessing  at  hidden  sorrows  and  mute  sufferings  and  in- 
terposing between  them  and  despair,  that  people  called 
her  the  good  witch.  How  many  tears  shed  in  secret 
were  wiped  away  by  her  !  and  how  modestly  were  all  her 
good  works  done  1  She  was  never  known  to  be  angry 
but  oncfj,  and  that  was  when  one  of  her  neighbors  got  up 
a  petition  to  present  her  to  the  Academy  as  worthy  of 
the  Monthyon  prize.  In  the  gratuitous  advice  she  gave 
and  the  decisions  she  rendered,  in  order  to  prevent  her 
neighbors  from  carrying  their  disputes  before  a  magis- 
trate, she  displayed  the  wisdom  of  Solomon. 

One  day,  a  worthy  couple,  married  five  years,  pre- 
sented themselves  before  her,  having  chosen  her  for  the 
umpire  in  a  grave  and  puzzling  question.  Having  re- 
solved to  separate  quietly,  in  consequence  of  the  first 
dispute  they  had  had  since  their  marriage,  they  both 
claimed  the  possession  of  the  only  child  that  Providence 
had  given  them.  Mother  Mathusalem  could  have  easily 
settled  the  point  in  the  way  that  Solomon  did,  but  she 


112 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEH'S  EASTER  EGO. 


m , 


U*-- 


Hi  h 


r:  .  ^'  *1 


f 

V 

i 

PL 

i 

found  a  better  expedient  in  her  conciliating  prndence. 
"  My  good  friends,"  said  she,  **  will  you  promise  to 
abide  by  my  decision,  whatever  it  may  be  ?" 

"  We  will,"  answered  the  spouses. 

*'  Well  I  before  you  take  the  decisive  step  on  which 
you  seem  to  have  agreed,  I  must  beg  you  to  wait  ten 
months  or  so — till  then,  live  in  peace,  in  good  under- 
standing, carefully  avoid  all  exciting  discussion,  make 
mutual  concessions,  and  pray  that  the  good  God  may 
grant  you  a  second  child — so  that  you  may  have  one 
each,  in  case  you  persist  in  your  plan  of  separation." 

Ten  months  after,  the  question  was  singularly  com- 
plicated :  the  worthy  couple  had  prayed  so  well  that 
they  got  two  twin-children.  The  difficulty,  thus  increas- 
ing, was  still  the  same.  Mother  Mathusalem  had  little 
difficulty  in  making  them  understand  that  the  only  means 
of  arriving  at  a  settlement  satisfactory  to  both  parties 
was  a  full  and  perfect  reconciliation. 

In  the  evil  days  of  1848,  a  shoemaker,  the  father  of  a 
family,  drawn  into  the  clubs  by  the  political  vertigo 
which  then  upset  all  heads,  and  giving  up  the  positive 
life  of  a  good  workman  for  the  deceitful  hopes  of  social- 
ism, very  soon  found  misery  taking  the  place  of  work  in 
his  deserted  shop.  Hunger  was  not  slow  in  following 
misery,  then  the  creditors  came  s  in  their  turn,  then 
threats,  then  suits,  then  the  sale  of  furniture  by  public 
auction.  The  unhappy  shoemaker  would  have  found 
himself  without  a  morsel  of  bread,  or  a  shelter  for  his 
family,  when  a  generous  and  unknown  hand,  buying  all 
his  little  effects,  gave  them  back  to  him  and  satislied  all 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM's   EASTER   EGG. 


113 


the  demands  of  his  creditors.  From  that  day  forward, 
the  tradesman,  cured  of  his  erro/s,  went  to  work  with 
right  good  will  and  soon  got  back  his  customers,  with 
peace,  happiness  and  prosperity.  He  considers  Mother 
Mathusalem  as  his  benefactress,  but  the  latter  places  to 
the  score  of  Providence  a  good  action  to  whicli  she  alone 
w^as  instrumental. 

Another  time,  a  young  man  supporting,  with  the  pro- 
duce of  his  labor,  an  infirm  father  and  an  aged  mother, 
found  a  substitute  ready  to  his  hand,  without  spending  a 
cent,  at  the  very  moment  when  the  law  of  conscription 
called  him  to  take  his  place  under  the  banners  of  France. 
This  time  again  Mother  Mathusalem  would  insist  on  it 
that  she  w^as  nothing  more  than  the  agent  of  that  good 
Providence  who  never  abandons  good  sons  and  honest 
laborers  who  love  and  fear  God. 

But  with  all  her  piety  and  good  works,  and  the  bless- 
ings which  she  seemed  to  draw  down  on  herself,  Mother 
Mathusalem,  though  loved  and  respected  by  all,  was 
not  happy.  A  deep-seated  sorrow  was  preying  on  her 
health  and  wearing  her  life  away.  She  had  a  son  whose 
impious  and  disorderly  life  was  a  continual  source  of  anx- 
iety to  her  maternal  heart.  Vainly  had  she  tried  by 
tears  and  supplications  to  bring  him  back  to  the  paths  of 
virtue  ;  turning  a  deaf  ear  to  her  pious  and  tender  ad- 
monitions, he  became  every  day  wilder  and  more  dissi- 
pated. "Unhappy  boy,"  said  she,  "you  will  kill  me 
with  grief  and  despair." 

"Well  I"  answered  the  unnatural  son,  "I  will  inherit 
all  the  sooner  the  fortune  of  which  you  are  every  day 


114 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's   EASTER  EGO. 


'IV 


H  ■ 
m  i 

•J.  i 


it 


if'.;' 


fv1 


,i^ 


robbing  me  to  spend  it  on  priests  and  beggars."  Yet 
still,  Ernest,  as  he  was  called,  really  loved  his  mother ; 
but  the  bad  advice  of  the  wicked  companions  he  had 
chosen  for  himself,  had  more  influence  over  his  weak 
mind  than  her  good  example  and  wise  counsels.  Horrid 
to  relate,  he  looked  forward  only  to  the  time  when,  hav- 
ing his  patrimony  in  his  own  hands,  he  could  give  him- 
self up  without  restraint  to  his  wicked  instincts  and  his 
evil  passions. 

The  noble  use  which  Mother  Mathusalem  made  of  her 
income,  the  infinite  resources  she  every  day  drew  from 
her  exhaustless  charity,  showed  a  golden  horizon  to  the 
eager  ambition  of  Ernest,  who  expected  to  find  his  for- 
tune in  the  mattrass  of  his  mother's  bed,  or  the  lining  of 
her  old  clothes.  By  a  wise  foresight,  the  good  woman 
had  never  made  her  sou  acquainted  with  the  real  amount 
of  her  money. 

"  Bah  1"  said  Ernest  to  the  scape-graces  who  were  in 
the  habit  of  ridiculing  Mother  Mathusalem's  shabby  ap- 
pearance, "  laugh  as  much  as  you  please,  but  I  wouldn't 
exchange  the  oldest  petticoat  my  mother  has  for  the 
velvet  robe  of  the  linest  lady  in  Paris  !" 

Every  day,  as  we  have  said,  the  good  woman,  in  her 
search  for  the  hidden  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  her  neigh- 
bors, climbed,  notwithstanding  her  great  age,  the  garrets 
where  misery  had  its  secret  haunts.  One  evening,  as  she 
returned  from  visiting  a  poor  sick  woman,  her  foot  slipped, 
and  she  got  a  fall  that  nearly  killed  her.  When  Ernest 
came  home  half  drunk  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  he 
found  her  dying  on  her  bed  of  pain.    His  heart  sank 


MOTHER    MATHUSALEM  S    EASTER   EGG. 


115 


within  him  at  the  sight ;  those  sentiments  of  filial  piety 
which  his  dissipated  life  had  not  altogether  effaced,  were 
all  at  once  revived  ;  he  evinced  the  most  sincere  sorrow, 
and  tried  by  his  caresses  to  restore  the  life  that  was  all 
but  extinct.  He  was  going  off  in  search  of  a  doctor. 
**  It  is  useless,"  said  his  mother  ;  "I  feel  that  no  human 
skill  can  prolong  the  days  for  which  I  shall  soon  have  to 
account  to  God  ;  my  hour  is  come.  It  is  the  physician 
of  sr>uls  that  my  case  requires — go,  then,  my  son,  and 
bring  a  priest  to  bless  my  death  :  and  bless  you  when  I 
am  no  more  I" 

Ernest  went  out  and  soon  returned  with  a  worthy 
ecclesiastic,  who  had  little  trouble  in  securing  for  God 
the  sacrifice  of  a  life  which  had  been  so  piously  conse- 
crated to  His  service.  Mother  Mathusalem  received  the 
last  helps  of  religion  with  that  resignation  and  that 
serenity  of  soul  which  the  peace  of  a  good  corpr^'^nce  can 
alone  give  at  the  hour  of  death. 

When  the  priest  was  gone,  the  poor  old  woman  called 
Ernest  to  her  bedside,  and  collected  all  her  remaining 
strength  to  say  to  him  :  "  My  son,  a  few  hours  more,  and 
you  will  have  no  mother  ;  you  have  grieved  me  much,  and 
made  me  shed  many  tears,  but  I  will  not  leave  you  with- 
out pronouncing  my  forgiveness,  giving  you  my  blessing, 
and  beseeching  you  to  renounce  your  evil  ways.  I  will 
die  happy,  my  child,  if  you  promise  me  to  return  to  God 
honestly  and  sincerely — if  you  promise  me  to  seek  in  the 
occupations  of  a  serious  life  the  welfare  and  happiness 
you  can  never  find  in  the  criminal  pursuit  of  pleasure  and 
the  gratification  of  your  passions.    Promise  me,  my  dear 


m 


116 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM's   EASTER   EGO. 


U- 


i 


I. 


i 


lit 

lb 


m 


i: 


son,  that  you  will  henceforward  live  as  an  honest  man 
and  a  good  Cliristian  :  promise  me  that  you  will  resume 
the  practice  of  those  duties  which,  alas  I  you  have  too 
long  neglected :  promise  me  that  you  will  give  up  the 
company  of  those  persons  who  have  led  you  away  from 
the  paths  of  virtue.  I  know  you  have  a  good  heart,  but 
you  are  weak  and  susceptible  of  impressions,  and,  there- 
fore, easily  led  astray.  Shun,  then,  courageously,  the  occa- 
sions and  seductions  which  tend  to  destroy  virtue  and 
efface  every  noble  sentiment,  every  generous  instinct,  from 
the  heart — Ernest,  do  you  promise  me  ?" 

There  is  something  in  the  voice  of  a  dying  mother  that 
touches  and  subdues  the  heart.  Ernest,  bursting  into 
tears  and  regretting  the  errors  of  his  past  life,  fell  on  his 
knees  beside  his  mother's  bed,  and  taking  one  of  her 
hands,  which  he  raised  to  his  lips,  he  exclaimed : 
*'  Mother,  I  promise  you."  Then,  bending  his  head,  he 
added:  "I  know  I  have  been  very  culpable — I  have 
made  your  life  bitter — I  have  shut  my  eyes  to  your 
pious  example — I  hare  closed  my  ears  to  your  virtuous 
teachings — I  have  been  deaf  and  blind  to  the  virtue  of 
which  your  life  was  a  practical  example.  Mother  I  for- 
give me,  for  I  repent — bless  me,  for  I  love  you  I" 

Seeing  the  sincere  sorrow  of  her  contrite  and  humbled 
child,  the  poor  mother  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven,  and, 
clasping  her  hands  on  her  breast,  she  said  :  *' Blessed  be 
God  !  He  has  given  me  back  my  son  I  I  can  die  now  I" 
The  sound  of  footsteps  was  heard  on  the  stairs,  accom- 
panied by  shouts  of  laughter,  breaking  discordantly  on 
the  solemn  scene.     At  the  same  moment,  a  loud  ring  at 


I 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM^S   EASTER   EGO. 


in 


the  door  bell  made  Ernest  starl,  and  hurry  to  the  door. 
It  was  some  of  his  companions  who,  having  tired  waiting 
for  him  at  a  place  of  resort  in  the  neighborhood,  where 
they  had  all  appointed  to  meet,  came  in  search  of  him,  to 
take  him  off  to  new  scenes  of  wickedness. 

"  Well,  7Ve7icA«r,"  said  one  of  them,  (that  was  the 
nick-name  his  comrades  had  given  him),  is  this  the  way 
you  keep  us  dancing  attendance,  and  a  fine  matelote  wait- 
ing at  old  Fricoteau's  ?  Come,  take  your  over-coat  and 
march  1"  ^ 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Ernest,  coldly,  "an  unforeseen 
occurrence  of  a  fatal  nature  prevents  me  from  keeping 
my  appointment  of  yesterday  ;  so  do  not  count  on  me." 

"  But  we  count  on  your  purse,  Trencher,  for  ours  is  as 
dry  as  the  palate  of  a  drunken  cobbler." 

"  Count  no  more,  then,  on  my  purse  or  myself,  gentle- 
men, for  I  have  promised  even  now  to  begin  a  new  life 
and  break  off  connections  that  are,  at  least,  useless." 

"  Ah  1  ha  1  my  dear,  what  grass  did  you  walk  on  this 
morning?" 

"On  good  grass,  gentlemen — what  I  trod  in  your 
company  was  too  slippery  for  me  to  walk  longer  on  it." 

"As  you  please,  my  dear  ;  we'll  slip  along  and  trench 
along  without  you." 

"  You're  at  liberty  to  do  so,  gentlemen  !" 

"  By-the-by,  dear  friend  of  my  heart,  lend  us  twenty 
francs." 

"  I  have  not  got  it."   , 

"Ask  the  venerable  author  of  your  life — we'll  drink 
Mother  Mathusalem's  health." 


■  I  . 


118 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM's   EASTER  EOO. 


M 


if 

P 

Mr 


.1' 


"  I  forbid  you  to  speak  so  of  ray  raotber — my  mother 
who  is  dying  in  that  room — retire,  gentlemen,  leave  me  I" 

"  So  the  old  dame  is  going  to  give  up  the  ghost !  what 
a  wedding  we'll  have  after  the  funeral  I" 

Ernest  could  hear  no  more.  He  shut  the  door  in  the 
face  of  his  M  companions,  who  retired  confused  and 
ashamed  at  getting  such  a  reception  from  one  whose 
pliable  and  easy  disposition  had  hitherto  placed  him 
entirely  at  their  disposal. 

Mother  Mathusalem  had  heard  all.  "  It  is  well,  my 
son,''  said  she,  drawing  her  son  to  her  and  touching  his 
forehead  with  her  pale  lips — **  it  is  well ;  persevere  in 
these  good  resolutions,  and  the  good  God  will  bless  you ; 
He  will  support  you  in  the  struggle,  He  will  console  you 
in  your  sorrows,  and  multiply  your  joys." 

Contentment  of  heart,  combined  with  peace  of  mind, 
exercises  an  influence  on  the  sick  and  suffering,  which,  if 
it  does  not  always  cure,  is  always  sure  to  give  relief.  So 
it  was  that  tlje  poor  mother,  happy  in  the  ^.hange  which 
she  saw  so  suddenly  effected  in  her  son, was  for  three  days 
so  much  better,  that,  at  times,  hopes  were  entertained  of 
her  ultimate  recovery.  Ernest  had  found  again  the  for- 
gotten secret  of  prayer.  Night  and  day  he  sat  by  his 
mother's  bed,  and  only  left  her  once  ; — that  was  to  solicit 
the  intercession  of  our  Lady  of  Victory.  His  mother's 
soul  was  ripe  for  heaven,  where  God  had  her  place  pre- 
pared. On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  after  her  acci- 
dent, feeling  her  last  hour  approach,  she  said  to  her  son  : 
"  The  inheritance  I  have  to  leave  you,  my  son,  is  not  as 
much  as  I  could  wish  j  my  whole  fortune  consists  in  the 


MOTHER    MATHUSAT.EM*8    EASTER    EGO. 


110 


sum  of  twenty  thousand  francs  and  tliis  Easter  egg.  The 
twenty  thousand  trancs  will  secure  you  from  want,  and 
if  misery  should  come  ui)()n  you,  (which  God  forbid  !) 
the  egg  will  stand  your  friend !  It  contains  a  rosary  and 
a  medal  bearing  the  sacred  image  of  the  mother  of  God. 
I  bequeath  it  to  you,  on  the  express  condition  that  you 
do  not  open  it  till  all  other  resources  have  failed  you  ; 
then,  having  first  approached  the  holy  communion,  you 
may  open  your  egg.     Do  you  promise  mo  ?" 

"I  do." 

"A  promise  made  to  a  dying  mother  is  a  solemn  and 
sacred  oath." 

"  I  will  keep  it." 

"  Now,  then,  my  son — for  the  last  time — I  forgive  and 
bless  you." 

Two  hours  after.  Mother  Mathusalem  had  ceased  to 
live  I  :-    -v.vv.;^  [,-::-/ 

Ernest's  grief,  sincere  and  heartfelt  as  it  was,  was  not 
without  consolation.  The  news  of  his  mother's  death, 
spreading  like  wild-fire  through  the  neighborhood,  excited 
general  sorrow  and  warm  sympathy  for  the  sole  surviving 
relative  of  Mother  Mathusalem.  The  poor,  weeping, 
said :  "  We  have  lost  our  providence."  The  afflicted, 
likewise  shedding  tears,  repeated  :  "  Who  will  give  us 
back  our  comforter  ?"  It  was  one  touching  chorus  of 
praise  and  lamentation.  The  sorrow  of  those  who  re- 
main behind  is  the  funeral  sermon  of  the  departed. 
Judged  by  that  criterion,  never  had  man  or  woman  a 
finer  panegyric  preached  over  their  remains  than  Mother 
Mathusalem,  wept  and  lamented  by  all.  * 


w 


f'.. 


w, 


lin.    J 


ir 


120 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM'S   EASTER   EGG. 


Ernest,  as  strong  in  his  resolutions  as  ho  had  been 
sincere  in  his  promises  to  his  dying  mother,  broke  off  at 
once  and  forever  all  connection  with  his  former  bad  com- 
panions. 

Having  experienced  in  himself  the  truth  of  the  axiom 
that  Idleness  is  the  mother  of  all  mischief,  he  found,  in  the 
duties  of  a  situation  which  he  obtained  as  clerk  in  a  bank, 
tlio  peace  and  satisfaction  of  mind  which  he  had  vainly 
sought  in  the  vortex  of  dissipation.  A  salary  of  a  thou- 
sand crowns,  with  the  interest  of  his  twenty  thousand 
francs,  enabled  him  to  live  independently. 

But,  alas !  there  is  nothing  certain  in  this  uncertain 
world.  The  commercial  panic  following  on  the  social 
convulsion  of  1848,  quickly  prostrated  the  house  where 
his  funds  were  invested.  Rising  one  morning,  he  found 
himself  completely  ruined  :  his  banker  had  stopped  pay- 
ment. To  make  head  against  the  misery  which  he  saw 
in  store  for  him,  he  saw  but  one  means,  that  of  enlisting 
in  the  Garde  Mobile.  There,  his  good  conduct,  agreeable 
manners,  and  handsome  figure  soon  attracted  the  notice 
of  his  superior  oflBcers,  and  procured  him  an  ensign's 
epaulettes.  This  good  fortune  pleased  him  the  more  that 
his  present  position  was  more  conformable  to  his  taste. 

Always  one  of  the  first  to  answer  the  drum  when  it 
beat  the  roll-call,  on  those  evil  days  when  every  hour 
brought  a  tumult  or  a  manifestation,  he  distinguished 
himself  amongst  all  his  brothers-in-arms  in  attacking  the 
barricades  put  up  in  the  disastrous  days  of  June,  and 
won  his  first  laurels  under  the  eye  of  General  Lamoriciere. 
Providentially  escaping  a  shot  fired  at  him  closo  to  his 


i 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's   EASTER  EOO. 


121 


lad  been 
ke  off  at 
bad  com- 

18  axiom 
id,  in  the 
I  a  bank, 
id  vainly 
f  a  thou- 
tbousand 

uncertain 
he  social 
ise  where 
he  found 
•ped  pay- 
;h  he  saw 

enlisting 

agreeable 

he  notice 

ensign's 

nore  that 

taste, 
n  when  it 
ery  hour 
inguished 
3king  the 
Fune,  and 
noriciere. 
)so  to  his 


head,  he  pointed  bis  sabre  at  the  naked  breast  of  the  in- 
surgent who  had  thus  aimed  at  his  life,  but  immediately 
withdrawing  the  weapon,  when  ready  to  strike  :  "  Go," 
said  he,  "  I  am  a  soldier,  and  I  will  not  murder  you." 
On  another  occasidh,  being  exposed  to  the  fire  of  a  barri- 
cade that  was  rigorously  defended,  he  recognized,  in  the 
person  of  the  chief  who  commanded  there,  one  of  his  for- 
mer comrades  in  dissipation,  and  he  was  so  happy  as  to 
save  his  life  at  the  moment  when,  the  barricade  being 
broken  down,  its  defenders  found  themselves  at  the  mercy 
of  the  victors. 

Crushed  in  the  principal  centres  of  resistance,  the  in- 
surrection was  still  kept  up  with  an  energy  worthy  of  a 
better  cause.  The  losses  sustained  by  the  defenders  of 
order  were  immense  and  irreparable.  Generals  Negrier, 
Fran9ois,  Bourgno'n,  Regnault,  Damesme,  fell  in  the 
glorious  struggle.  Ernest,  grievously  wounded  near 
General  Bedeau,  (who  was  struck  himself  at  the  same 
moment, )  was  conveyed  in  a  dying  state  to  the  Hotel  de 
Yille,  and  placed  under  the  care  of  our  friend,  M.  Menes- 
sier,  adjutant  of  the  army  of  Africa.  Being  charged 
with  Dr.  Krug  to  take  down  the  names  of  the  dead  and 
wounded  of  the  Garde  Mohik,  we  there  saw  Ernest  for 
the  first  time,  calm  and  resigned,  and,  notwithstanding 
his  excruciating  pain,  happy  and  proud  of  having  shed 
his  blood  for  his  country. 

**  It  is  not  this  that  troubles  me  most,"  said  he,  show- 
ing his  leg  that  was  threatened  with  amputation,  "it  is 
not  the  having  received  a  wound  that  may  send  me  to 
the  other  world." 


122 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM's   EASTER  EGG. 


"  What  is  it  that  troubles  you,  then  ?"  we  asked. 

"  The  loss  of  an  Easter  eggJ^ 

**  That  is  a  thing  easily  replaced." 

"  It  is  an  irreparable  loss  for  me,  for  that  egg  was  all 
that  remained  to  me  of  my  motherV  inheritance,  and  it 
contained  a  blessed  rosary,  sanctified  by  long  and  pious 


jy 


use. 

*'  Where  do  you  think  you  lost  it  ?" 

"  I  left  it  in  the  bottom  of  a  cupboard  in  a  room  I  had 
hired,  in  the  house  where  my  mother  died." 

**  Perhaps  we  shall  find  it  there." 

"  I  do  not  think  so,  for  the  house  has  been  occupied 
by  the  insurgents." 

We  inquired  the  name  of  the  street  and  the  number  of 
the  house,  and  going  immediately  to  the  room  indicated, 
we  were  so  fortunate  as  to  find,  amongst  some  books  of 
piety  that  had  belonged  to  Mother  Mathusalem,  the 
precious  bequest,  which  we  faithfully  restored  to  its 
owner.  It  was  a  red  egg,  tied  with  blue  ribbon,  knotted 
in  the  form  of  a  cross,  and  sealed  with  Spanish  wax. 
Ernest  pressed  it  to  his  lips  in  an  ecstacy  of  joy.  "  If  I 
die  of  this  wound,"  said  he,  "I  will  leave  it  to  you,  and 
you  will  divide  its  contents  between  you.  One  of  you 
will  keep  the  rosary  in  remembrance  of  me,  and  the  other 
will  keep  the  egg  and  the  medal  it  contains.  Those 
relics  of  a  holy  woman  will  bring  good  luck  to  both." 

This  legacy,  to  which,  I  confess,  we  attached  little  im- 
portance at  the  time,  was  not  destined  to  be  ours,  for 
Ernest,  sustained  by  a  good  constitution,  was  soon  after 
able  to  rejoin  his  company,  decimated  by  the  fire  of  the 


1 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM's   EASTER   EGG. 


123 


insurrection.  General  Cavaignac,  informed  of  his  bravery, 
gave  him  the  command  of  the  company,  its  captain  hav- 
ing been  left  for  dead  at  the  foot  of  a  barricade. 

The  disbanding  of  the  Garde  Mobile,  (which,  we  can 
say,  as  an  eye-witness  and  an  actor  in  the  bloody  drama 
of  June,  had  saved  Paris  and  France  from  a  frightful 
conflagration, )  soon  after  deprived  Ernest  of  his  grade 
and  threw  him  on  the  world,  with  no  other  resource  than 
the  Easter  egg,  so  providentially  recovered.  He  was 
tempted  to  open  it  then,  but  the  promise  he  had  made  at 
his  mother's  death-bed,  restrained  his  hand  from  breaking 
the  seal  on  the  blue  ribbon  that  bound  his  pious  inherit- 
ance. 

The  brave  soldier  was  still  far  from  being  a  perfect 
Christian,  consequently  in  no  fit  state  to  fulfil  the  con- 
ditions which  his  mother  had  imposed  upon  him. 

Having  sought  in  vain,  during  several  days,  for  any 
sort  of  employment  that  would  secure  him  a  living,  he 
set  out  as  a  colonist  for  Algiers  ;  but  the  day  of  trial 
was  not  yet  past.  Two  months  after  his  arrival  in 
Africa,  he  fell  seriously  ill,  and  was  taken  to  the  hos- 
pital in  Algiers.  There  he  would  probably  have  died, 
were  it  not  for  the  pious  care  of  a  sister  of  charity,  who, 
touched  by  his  youth*  and  his  resignation  to  the  will  of 
God,  nursed  him  with  the  kindest  and  most  unremitting 
attention.  His  illness  was  long,  his  convalescence  longer 
and  more  tedious  still.  He  was  but  the  shadow  of  him- 
self when  the  physicians,  deciding  that  his  native  air 
could  alone  restore  him,  sent  him  back  to  France. 

Embarked  on  a  vessel  belonging  to  the  government, 


Ti 


124 


MOTHER    MATHUSALEM'S    EASTER   EGG. 


R1  ■'• 


mr 


%' 


i 


;!!;■•: 


Rf! 


';":i 


%'i 


■? 


.i-«i 


and  with  nothing  in  the  world  but  his  Easter  egg,  with 
which  he  never  parted,  he  arrived  at  Marseilles  in  a  state 
of  utter  destitution.  Too  proud,  however,  to  solicit  pub- 
lic charity,  weak  and  exhausted  as  he  was,  he  joined  a 
brigade  of  laborers  employed  on  the  public  works.  Put- 
ting his  trust  in  God,  he  remained  three  months  in  the 
Phocian  city,  and,  at  length,  succeeded,  by  the  closest 
economy,  in  putting  enough  together  to  take  him  to 
Paris.  He  courageously  undertook  it  on  foot,  but  by 
the  time  he  reached  Lyons,  he  could  go  no  farther,  his 
funds  being  completely  exhausted.  He  had  scarcely 
enough  to  pay  his  lodging  in  a  small  inn  situated  at  Pen- 
ache. 

Poor  young  man !  he  was  much  to  be  pitied,  for  he 
knew  not  a  soul  at  Lyons,  and,  as  we  have  said,  he  was 
too  high-spirited  to  ask  alms.  He  would  have  died 
twenty  times  over  sooner  than  solicit  charity  with  a  hand 
which  had  held  the  soldier's  sword  so  nobly. 

His  mother  had  often  spoken  to  him  of  a  little  chapel 
in  great  veneration  in  the  Lyonnese  city,  and  placed  for 
many  ages  under  the  invocation  of  the  Blessed  Virgin. 
** Since  men  abandon  me,"  said  Ernest,  one  morning,  "I 
will  have  recourse  to  God,  and,  to  reach  His  divine  heart 
more  directly,  I  will  implore  the  intercession  of  His 
august  mother."  Then  addressing  the  first  person  he  met 
on  the  quay  of  the  Saone,  where  he  happened  to  be,  he 
asked  the  name  of  the  shrine  of  whose  power  his  mother 
had  so  often  told  him.  It  was  a  woman  of  respectable 
appearance  ;  she  pointed  out  the  chapel  which  overhangs 
the  city,  and  serves  as  a  beacon  in  the  hour  of  great 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's    EASTER   EGG. 


125 


egg,  with 
in  a  state 
jlicit  pub- 
joined  a 
ks.     Pat- 
hs in  the 
he  closest 
e  him  to 
)t,  but  by 
arther,  his 
scarcely 
ed  at  Pen- 


ed,  for  he 
lid,  he  was 
have  died 
nth  a  hand 

ittle  chapel 
placed  for 
sed  Virgin, 
lorning,  "I 
livine  heart 
ion  of  His 
rson  he  met 
d  to  be,  he 
•  his  mother 
respectable 
li  overhangs 
lur  of  great 


; 


public  calamities.  "  Our  Lady  of  Fourvieres  is  not  only 
the  protectress  of  Lyons,^^  said  this  good  woman,  "  she  is 
the  comfort  of  all  the  afflicted.  If  you  have  a  favor  to  ask 
of  her,  go  !  young  man,  ascend  that  hill  with  confidence, 
enter  with  faith  the  little  church  you  will  find  at  the  top, 
on  that  terrace  which  you  can  see  from  here  ;  lay  your 
petition  humbly  at  her  feet,  and  be  assured  she  will  hear 
your  prayer." 

Ernest,  crossing  the  Palace  Bridge,  took  the  new  road, 
and,  following  the  directions  he  had  received,  he  gained 
the  summit  of  the  holy  hill  as  easily  as  though  a  star  had 
guided  his  steps,  like  the  magi  of  old.  As  usual,  there 
was  a  great  concourse  of  people  in  the  holy  chapel.  Ernest 
knelt  at  the  corner  of  a  pillar,  and  devoutly  assisted  at 
the  celebration  of  the  divine  sacrifice.  Never  in  his  life, 
except,  perhaps,  at  the  time  of  his  first  communion,  did 
he  pray  with  so  much  fervor  ;  but,  as  he  had  long  since 
lost  the  text  of  the  prayers  taught  him  in  his  childhood 
by  his  pious  mother,  he  was  obliged  to  extemporize  others. 
They  were  doubtless  pleasing  to  God,  seeing  that,  for  the 
first  time  since  the  memorable  day  above-mentioned,  he 
felt  within  his  heart  an  interior  satisfaction,  a  self-com- 
placency, which  made  him  forget  the  trying  situation  to 
which  he  was  reduced.  In  the  light  of  the  wax  tapers 
over  the  grand  altar,  he  saw  those  rays  of  hope  which 
Providence  sends  to  cheer  the  desolate  heart  that  throws 
itself  on  the  divine  mercy. 

At  the  moment  of  the  Elevation,  he  thought  he  could 
see  his  mother^s  image  in  the  cloud  of  incense  that  sur- 
rounded that  of  the  Virgin,  and  he  fancied  he  could  hear 


126 


MOTHER    MATHUSALEM's   EASTER  EGG. 


ivy:-.  , 


k 


a  clear  familiar  voice  saying  to  him :  "  Fear  nothing,  my 
beloved  sou,  for  I  am  watching  over  thee  from  heaven. 
The  good  God  will  not  abandon  thee ;  but  it  is  not 
enough  to  invoke  Him  in  the  time  of  affliction,  you  must 
return  completely  to  Him  that  He  may  return  to 
you.  The  theory^  without  the  practice,  of  religion  is  a 
dead  letter.  Remember  my  last  words,  my  son  I  remem- 
ber thy  first  promise  I  The  good  God,  whom  I  never 
cease  to  supplicate  for  thee,  is  here  awaiting  thee.  Go 
to  Him,  my  son  !  go  and  thou  wilt  be  happy  1" 

An  hour  after, when  Ernest  descended  the  hill  again  by 
the  new  road,  he  was  consoled,  and  no  longer  despaired 
of  the  future  ;  he  forgot  even  the  cry  of  hunger  that 
came  up  from  the  depths  of  his  inner  man.  Still,  as  the 
day  wore  on,  that  cry  becoming  more  urgent,  and  having 
nothing  to  appease  it  but  his  Easter  egg,  he  went  into  a 
store  where  odds  and  ends  were  kept,  to  try  and  dispose 
of  his  mother's  bequest.  He  was  offered  fifty  sous.  Tlie 
insignificance  of  the  sum  and,  still  more,  a  mysterious  in- 
spiration, prevented  him  from  concluding  a  bargain  con- 
trary to  the  expressed  wish  and  intention  of  his  mother. 
He  took  it  back,  and  was  going  away,  when  a  tall,  hand- 
some young  man  entered  the  shop,  to  trade  off  a  pair  of 
Arab  pistols.  At  the  sound  of  a  voice  which  was  not 
unknown  to  him,  Ernest  examined  the  new-comer,  who, 
looking  at  him  just  as  attentively,  sudd':niy  threw  himself 
into  his  arms,  saying :  "It  is  you,  Ernest  I  how  happy  I 
am  to  see  you  again  I"  The  tall,  handsome  young  man, 
a  light-hearted  son  of  Paris,  was  the  ex-sergeant-major 
of  the  company  which  Ernest  had  commanded  as  captain 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's    EASTER   EGG. 


12t 


hing,  my 
heaven, 
it  is  not 
you  naust 
eturn  to 
^iou  is  a 
I  remem- 
I  never 
hee.     Go 

again  by 
despaired 
nger  that 
;ill,  as  the 
id  having 
int  into  a 
id  dispose 
ous.  The 
Lerious  in- 
rgain  con- 
is  mother, 
tall,  hand- 

a  pair  of 
h  was  not 
imer,  who, 
ew  himself 
w  happy  I 
)ung  man, 
3aut-major 
as  captain 


in  the  Garde  Mobile.  Flambard,  as  he  was  called, 
hastened  to  finish  his  bargain,  and  taking  his  friend's 
ann,  he  said  :  "My  dear  captain,  manage  your  affairs  as 
you  best  can,  but  for  this  day  you  belong  to  me,  and 
we'll  begin  by  discussing  a  friendly  glass  of  wine,  with  a 
hundred  of  oysters,  which  you  used  to  relish  well,  if  my 
memory  serves  me  1" 

"  They  have  always  enjoyed  my  esteem  I"  answered 
Ernest ;  **  and  I  am  free  to  admit,  major,  that  I  am  well 
disposed,  just  now,  to  do  them  honor  !" 

"  Well !  right  flank  and  forward,  mar-r-ch!  But,  by- 
the-by,  do  you  know  of  any  snug  corner  hereabouts  ?'' 

"  This  is  the  first  time  for  me  to  stop  at  Lyons,  and 
the  reason — " 

"  You  will  tell  us  at  the  dessert — between  the  pear 
and  the  cheese.  Gome  to  think  of  it,  I'll  take  you  to  old 
Mathieu's,  down  on  the  quay ;  he'll  serve  us  a  little 
Beaujolais  wine  that  will  warm  your  heart,  I  think." 

**  I  hope  we  shall  not  go  too  far  with  it,  major — be- 
cause why — '' 

"Between  the  perr  and  the  cheese,  I  tell  you,  at  the 
dessert.  Meanwhile,  make  your  mind  easy,  I  am  the 
entertainer.  For  three  francs  a  head,  old  Mathieu — in 
my  opinion,  one  of  the  best  restaurateurs  in  Lyons — will 
serve  us  up  a  regular  Balthasar's  feast." 

"  By  the  gods !  what  a  splendid  appetite  you  have 
this  morning  I  on  my  word  of  honor,  it  does  one  good  to 
see  you  eat  I" 

"  Because  why,  rnajor — " 


128 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM^S    EASTER   EGO. 


¥■■ 

¥' 

• 

11:  ■ 

1 

1 

'!;: 

1 

t-   1 

1 

i  , 

1  '  . 

.' 

"You  will  tell  us  at  the  dessert,  between — but,  by- 
the-by,  where  do  you  come  from  in  that  trim  ?" 

"  From  Africa — plenty,  plenty  I  why,  my  dear  fellow, 
you  take  me  for  an  ogre  !" 

**  Some  fricassee,  did  you  say  ?  You  are  thin,  captain. 
Take  this  other  wing  !  You  are  thin,  I  say,  faith  you 
are — as  thin  as  a  starved  cock  on  a  sand-bank." 

"  Good  reason  why,  major — " 

"  You'll  tell  all  presently — here,  waiter  I" 

"Sir." 

**  The  dessert,  if  you  please,  and  a  good  bottle  of 
Fleury  !" 

"  By  my  word,"  said  Ernest,  sipping  the  Fleury  like  a 
real  amateur,  "by  my  word,  old  Mathieu  has  famous 
wine  in  his  cellar.  I  will  recommend  it  to  my  friends  in 
Paris — on  my  honor,  I  will." 

"  Your  health,  captain  !" 

"  Yours,  major  !" 

"  And  that  of  our  absent  friends  I" 

"  Poor  fellows  I  some  of  them  are  not  very  well  oflF,  I 
fear" — 

"  Because  why,  my  dear — " 

"  All  right,  we  are  at  the  cheese — I  hear  you  now— 
unbosom  yourself  1" 

^p  ^  *|C  ?|C  ?|C 

"  Faith,  my  dear  fellow,"  said  Flambard,  after  hear- 
ing his  captain's  sad  story,  "you  were  wrong  in  not 
applying  to  the  government  —  it  would  never  have 
abandoned  an  officer  that  played  his  part  so  well  at  the 
barricades." 


but,  by- 

r  fellow, 

captaiii. 
lith  you 


lottle  of 

iry  like  a 
s  famouB 
Tiends  in 


veil  off,  I 


)u  now^ 


'ter  hear- 
g  in  not 
er  have 
ell  at  the 


UOTHRR   MATHUSALEm's   EASTER   EGG. 


129 


*'  I  only  did  ray  duty—and  you,  how  has  it  fared  with 
you  since  we  were  disbanded  ?" 

"I  went  into  business.  As  you  see  mt,  1  deal  in 
cloths,  and  I  have  for  captain — I  mean  patron — a  real 
jolly  fellow,  a  zealous  national  guardsman,  a  good  father 
and  a  good  husband." 

"  So  you  are  luckier  than  I,  for  you  have  made  your 


V 


way 

"  It'S  easy  done — on  a  railway — when  one  has  a  thou- 
sand crowns  a-year  salary,  and  twelve  francs  a-day  for 
expenses.     Now,  captain,  I  forgot  one  thing." 

"  What  was  that  ?" 

"  The  fifteen  francs  you  lent  me  on  the  24th  of  June, 
on  the  Place  de  la  Bastille." 

"  I  never  thought  of  it." 

"  Well  I  you  know  what  the  old  proverb  says  :  '  He 
that  pays  his  debts  enriches  himself  P  so  here's  your  fifteen 
francs — the  rest  will  be  for  the  interest ;"  and,  taking 
from  his  purse  a  forty-franc  piece,  he  gave  it  to  Ernest, 
who  would  only  accept  the  surplus  of  the  sum  offered  by 
way  of  loan. 

'^  Decidedly,  my  dear  major,"  said  the  ex-captain, 
rising  from  table,  "  I  did  well  to  refuse  the  fifty  sous 
offered  me  for  my  Easter  egg  in  the  store  where  I  met 
you." 

II. 

In  the  meeting  with  his  former  comrade  of  the  Ganle 
Mohik,  transformed  into  a  traveling  clerk,  Ernest  recog- 
nized the  mysterious  intervention  of  the  Providence  he 


130 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM's   EASTER   EGO. 


Hi' 


Kit 


pi;;l 


1    ) 

I. 

j  i    , 

had  invoked  so  fervently,  through  the  powerful  inter- 
cession of  our  Lady  of  Fourvieres.  Next  morning, 
resolved  to  continue  his  journey  to  Paris,  he  was  pre- 
paring to  take  leave  of  his  old  companion-in-arms,  when 
a  waiter  belonging  to  the  hotel  brought  him  the  follow- 
ing letter : 

"  Hotel  du  Nordf  6  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
"  My  dear  Captain  : 

**  Being  obliged  to  set  out  this  morning  to  join  my 
employer  at  Valencia,  where  he  is  to  meet  me,  I  regret 
not  being  able  to  shake  hands  with  you  at  pa-rting.  I 
cannot  tell  you  how  deeply  I  am  interested  in  your 
affairs.  Your  too  keen  sensibility  prevented  me  yester- 
day from  offering  you  a  sum  which  I  can  just  now  spare, 
without  the  slightest  inconvenience  to  myself,  though, 
even  if  such  were  not  the  case,  I  wt^uld  still  be  happy  to 
do  as  I  now  do. 

*'  I  beg  you,  then,  to  accept  the  bank-bill  which  you 
will  find  enclosed.  You  will  pay  me  when  you  can,  with- 
out any  other  interest  than  the  sincere  pleasure  I  enjoy 
in  being  able  to  oblige  a  brother-in-arms,  who  did  not 
refuse  to  share  his  purse  with  me  when  it  was  my  turn  to 
need  a  friend's  assistance. 

"  Heartily  yours, 

**  Flambard." 

*'  P.  S- — Should  you  be  some  time  yet  without  finding 
a  situation,  do  not  forget  that  I  am  your  banker.  You 
may  draw  freely  on  my  purse  ;  I  shall  always  be  happy 
to  honor  your  signature." 


ri 


MOTHER   IfATHUSALEM^S   EASTEB 


Ul 


al  inter- 
noruing, 
^as  pre- 
is,  when 
D  foUow- 

^rning. 

join  my 

I  regret 
rting.    I 

in  your 
ic  yester- 
)w  spare, 

though, 
happy  to 

hich  you 
!an,  with- 
B  I  enjoy 
0  did  not 
y  turn  to 


[BARD." 

it  finding 
3r.  You 
)e  happy 


"  A  friend  in  need  is  a  friend  indeed  1"  saia  Ernes  at 
he  placed  in  his  pocket-book  a  bank-bill  of  two  hundrt^d 
francs,  and  he  added :  "  God  grant  that  I  may  soon  be 
able  to  pay  him  I" 

In  the  critical  circumstances  in  which  he  was  pi  .ced, 
two  hundred  and  forty  francs  was  to  him  a  little  fortune. 

Grateful  to  Providence,  which  had  so  marvellously 
come  to  his  aid  by  sending  a  generous  friend  across  his 
path,  he  would  not  leave  Lyons  without  offering  the 
homage  of  his  heart  at  the  privileged  shrine  where  he 
had  found  hope  and  comfort.  He  went  accordingly  to 
the  chapel  of  our  Lady  of  Fourvieres.  The  first  person 
he  met  there  was  the  good  woman  who  had  shown  him 
the  way  thither.  "Madam,"  said  Ernest,  "you  were 
right ;  the  holy  Virgin  never  abandons  those  who  have 
recourse  to  her.  Yesterday,  I  implored  her  assistance, 
and  that  very  day  she  extended  her  protecting  hand  to 
help  me." 

**  Continue  to  love  her,"  answered  the  old  woman, 
"  venerate  her  in  your  joys,  supplicate  her  in  your  afflic- 
tions, pray  to  her  in  your  wants,  and  she  will  hear  you, 
for  her  mercy,  like  her  power,  knows  no  bounds." 

On  his  return  to  Paris,  Ernest  went  to  Pc.x  La-Chaise, 
to  pray  at  his  mother's  grave.  A  bird  perched  on  the 
branches  of  an  evergreen  near  by,  was  singing  in  the 
silence  of  the  dead,  and  it  seemed  like  the  voice  of  a 
consoling  angel. 

That  same  day,  the  ex-captain  of  the  Garde  Mobile  set 
about  looking  for  employment,  but  the  revolution,  still 
felt  in  its  effects,  paralyzed  all  sorts  of  business.    Mer- 


) 


132 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's   EASTER   EGO 


ch 


had  dismissed  their  clerks. 


1^: 


Hi'  I 


f !  ;  , 


great  number  of 
stores  and  offices  were  closed,  and  repeated  failures  threw 
a  gloom  over  Paris  ;  so  it  happened  that  his  days  were 
spent  in  lain  inquiries  and  fruitless  applications,  and 
every  day,  as  it  passed,  diminished  his  slender  store,  not- 
withstanding all  his  care  and  economy  and  the  privations 
he  at  last  imposed  on  himself.         , 

Too  proud,  as  we  have  already  said,  to  have  recourse 
again  to  the  generosity  of  his  friend  Flambard,  he  soon 
reached  the  last  sou  of  his  last  five-franc  piece.  That 
day,  he  went  early  in  the  morning,  trembling  and  blush- 
ing, to  a  Mont  de  Pidtd  office,  to  pawn  a  portion  of  his 
slender  wardrobe.  He  returned  with  a  coat  the  less, 
and  fifteen  francs  the  more  in  his  purse.  Alas  !  that  re- 
source could  not  last  long. 

Great  trials  come  to  us  from  heaven,  but  they  lead 
us  back  thither.  There  is  nothing  like  misfortune  for 
awaking  in  the  mind  of  suffering  man  those  religious 
principles  too  often  forgotten  in  prosperity.  Since  the 
death  of  his  mother,  and  especially  since  his  visit  to  our 
Lady  of  Fourvieres,  Ernest,  understanding  that,  apart 
from  God,  all  was  false  or  chimerical,  had  moved  one 
step  forward  on  the  way  that  leads  to  the  true  and  living 
faith,  but  the  most  important  step  was  still  to  be  taken 
in  order  to  reach  the  end.  He  had  faith,  but  he  wanted 
practice.  He  knelt  before  the  altar,  but  he  passed  the 
confessional  by.  The  repu<^nance,  or  rather  the  preju- 
dice, which  he  felt  in  regard  U  confessing  his  sins,  as 
ordained  by  the  holy  precepts  of  the  church,  was  the  only 
obstacle  that  still  separated  him  from  grace. 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's    EASTER   EGG. 


133 


iniber  of 
•es  threw 
lays  were 
ons,  and 
tore,  not- 
)rivatioDS 

recourse 
,  he  soon 
;e.  That 
^nd  blush- 
on  of  his 

the  less, 
I  that  re- 

they  lead 
)rtune  for 

religious 
Since  the 
isit  to  our 
hat,  apart 
loved  one 
and  living 

be  taken 
be  wanted 
passed  the 
the  preju- 
is  sins,  as 
s  the  only 


When  the  ruinous  Mont  de  Pidtd  had  absorbed  the 
last  article  he  could  dispose  of,  and  he  saw  himself  re- 
duced to  utter  destitution,  he  formed  the  resolution  of 
taking  service  in  the  ranks  of  the  active  force.  The 
minister  ot  war  was  just  then  occupied  ..ith  the  formation 
of  the  National  Guard.  Ernest's  military  experience 
made  it  easy  for  him  to  obtain  a  place  in  the  squares  of 
that  select  corps.  One  day,  therefore,  when  he  was  pre- 
paring to  sign  the  act  of  his  enrolment,  he  chanced  to 
meet,  in  the  Rue  Castiglione,  a  worthy  priest  whom  he 
had  known  at  the  Tuilleries,  in  the  worst  days  of  1848.* 

As  they  journeyed  in  the  same  direction,  they  crossed 
together  the  garden  that  lay  before  them.  Solitude 
still  reigned  under  the  fine  trees  planted  by  the  hand  of 
Le  Notre  before  tlie  dwelling  of  the  kings  of  France. 
The  perpetual  wai  oling  of  birds  was  the  only  sound  that 
broke  c^n  the  stillness  of  the  shady  alleys.  It  was  nine 
in  the  morning.  The  soldier  had  taken  the  priest's  arm. 
Between  the  priest  and  the  soldier — those  two  great 
types  of  devotion  and  abnegation — intimacy  is  as  rapid 
as  confidence  is  easy,  so  Ernest  had  soon  made  the  Abbe 

*  The  Abbd  Denys,  now  almoner  of  St.  Louis'  hospital,  dis- 
tinguished himself  in  1848  by  his  admirable  zeal  and  charity. 
Every  day  he  shut  himself  up  in  the  Castle  of  the  Tuilleries,  to 
convert,  whilst  consoling  them,  the  numerous  wounded  persons 
brought  there  after  the  disastrous  affair  of  February.  At  the 
same  time  he  organized  a  club,  which,  under  his  presidency  and 
the  title  of  the  Pius  IX.  Hociety,  rendered  good  service  to  reli- 
gion. The  author  of  these  sketches  remembers  with  gratitude 
the  honor  done  him  by  this  society  in  associating  him  with  the 
Abbe  Denys  in  the  capacity  of  vice-president. 


f.. 


ft 


M^' 


134 


MOIHER   MATHUSALEM'S    EASTER   EGG. 


Denys  acquainted  with  his  position  and  his  projects.  The 
latter,  on  his  side,  well  skilled  in  the  reading  of  human 
hearts,  had  soon  discovered  the  struggle  and  the  hesitsr 
tion  going  on  in  that  of  the  captain's. 

"  Do  not  enrol  yourself  to-day,"  said  he  ;  "he  who  has 
orne  the  sword  of  command  so  nobly  as  you  have  done 
must  not  submit  to  carry  the  private's  musket,  unless  as 
a  last  resource.     Wait  until  to-morrow." 

"  I  cannot  do  it,  my  dear  Abbe,"  replied  Ernest. 

"  What  is  a  day,  more  or  less  ?" 

"  A  great  deal  when  one  is  hungry,  and  has  nothing 
to  satisfy  the  cravings  of    appetite  except  an   Easter 

egg." 

"It  is  very  little,  I  confess ;  but  Providence,  who 
*  feeds  the  birds  of  the  air,'  will  not  desert  a  being  created 
to  His  own  divine  image." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  I  am  sure  of  it !  Was  it  not  He  that  sent  me  to 
you  this  morning  ?  You  will  see  that  it  was  when  I  tell 
you  that,  when  you  met  me,  I  was  just  on  my  way  to  dis- 
pose of  a  sum  of  an  hundred  francs,  which  one  of  my 
penitents  had  given  me  yesterday  for  the  poor  of  the 
parish  or  some  particular  case  of  distress,  whichever  I 
chose  ;  now  my  choice  is  made,  and  I  am  at  liberty  to 
beg  your  acceptance  of  it." 

"  Enough,  enough,  my  dear  Abbe,"  cried  Ernest,  in  a 
tone  of  noble  pride,  "you  may  pity  me,  but  you  surely 
would  not  insult  me." 

"You  do  not  understand  me,  my  poor  friend!  pray 
let  me  finish.    My  choice  being  made,  as  I  said,  I  beg 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM's    EASTER   EGG. 


135 


ts.  The 
f  human 
he  hesita- 

who  has 
lave  done 
unless  as 

lest. 

as  nothing 
<n   Easter 

ence,  who 
ig  created 


ent  me  to 
vhen  I  tell 
vay  to  dis- 
)ne  of  my 
>or  of  the 
hichever  I 
liberty  to 

Iniest,  in  a 
you  surely 

end  !  pray 
said,  I  beg 


you  to  accept  as  a  loan  the  sum  which  a  generous  hand 
has  placed  at  my  disposal." 

**  I  sincerely  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  Abbd,  I  did 
not  understand  you." 

"  You  accept  it  ?" 

"  As  a  loan — yes — but  not  the  entire  sum.  From  this 
till  to-morrow,  five  francs  will  be  sufficient ;  the  smaller 
the  sum  it  will  be  the  easier  paid." 

*'  As  you  will ;  but  promise  me  that  you  will  come  and 
see  me  to-morrow  at  ten  o'clock,  precisely.  A  friend 
lately  spoke  to  me  of  a  place  where  a  confidential  person 
is  wanted.  I  will  go  this  very  moment,  and  see  if  we 
are  yet  in  time." 

"  Thanks,  my  dear  Abb^ !  you  might  well  say  that 
Providence  is  a  rich  provider  I" 

•f*  *fS  ^F  ^P  ^^ ' 

At  ten  o'clock  next  day,  Ernest  was  at  St.  Louis'  hos- 
pital. Abbe  Denys  was  waiting  for  him  in  the  snug 
little  retreat  he  had  made  there  for  himself  in  the  midst 
of  the  human  sufferings  to  which  he  ministered :  it  was 
like  a  nest  in  a  rose-bush. 

"The  place  of  which  I  told  you  is  still  vacant,"  said 
the  good  Abbe,  shaking  him  warmly  by  the  hand,  "  I  am 
promised  a  decisive  answer  inside  of  twenty-four  hours." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  favorable  ?" 

'*  I  hope  it  will ;  meanwhile,  you  know  I  am  your 
cashier,  and  have  still  ninety-five  francs  at  your  disposal ; 
the  piece  you  accepted  yesterday  must  be  all  gone  by  now." 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Ernest,  with  a  smile  :  "  see,  I  have 
four  francs  yet." 


136 


MOTHER  MATHUSALEM'S   EASTER   EGG. 


a'4 


B'i'-.; 


pi  ;i 


I, 


ii^ 


~4 

1     1 


"  You  are  too  economical." 

"  We  cannot  be  too  economical  in  using  what  is  not 
our  own." 

"  You  have  a  noble  heart,"  said  the  Abbe,  "  I  find 
you  are  as  honorable  as  you  are  brave :  the  good  God 
will  bless  you."  Naturally,  and  without  any  effort  on 
his  part,  Ernest  was  led  to  make  his  confession — the  only 
obstacle,  we  have  said,  that  kept  him  from  the  practice 
of  religion.  Abbe  Deuys,  speaking  with  the  vigor  and 
earnestness  of  inspiration  and  the  fervor  of  apostolic  zeal, 
explained  to  him  the  sublimity  and  the  immense  advan- 
tages of  a  sacrament  instituted  by  God  himself,  to  sup- 
port frail  human  nature  in  its  struggle  with  concupiscence 
and  the  powers  of  evil,  to  ^rengthen  it  in  its  weakness, 
to  confirm  it  in  good,  to  console  it  in  affliction,  to  en- 
lighten it  in  its  doubts,  to  bring  it  securely  through  the 
ordeal  of  temptation,  and  to  absolve  it  at  the  final  hour 
when,  ready  to  appear  before  God,  its  judge,  it  is  strug- 
gling in  the  grasp  of  death. 

Being  long  before  prepared  to  receive  the  word  of 
truth  and  the  light  of  grace,  Ernest  listened  piously  to 
the  eloquent  voice  of  the  priest,  and,  according  as  the 
latter  developed  the  magnificence  of  religion,  in  its 
dogmas  as  in  its  works,  he  felt  a  deep  and  settled  con- 
viction replacing  uncertainty  and  hesitation  in  his  mind. 

When  the  Abb(^  had  ceased  to  speak,  Ernest,  falling 
at  his  feet,  exclaimed  :  "I  am  ready,  father,  if  you  will 
only  hear  me,"  and,  in  a  voice  of  deep  emotion,  he  com- 
menced fji  general  confession  of  his  whole  life.  He  was 
so  well  disposed,  as  we  have  just  said,  that  he  received 


II-, 


MOTHER   MATHUSALEM'S    EASTER   EGG. 


137 


I  is  not 

'I  find 

odGod 

fort  on 

he  only 

jractice 

^or  and 

lie  zeal, 

advan- 

to  sup- 

Discence 

Bakness, 

1,  to  en- 

ugh  the 

lal  hour 

is  strug- 

ivord  of 
ously  to 
as  the 
,  in  its 
led  con- 
mind. 
,  falling 
you  will 
he  corn- 
He  was 
received 


absolution  with  a  contrite  and  humble  heart,  and  could 
have  approached  the  holy  table  that  very  day. 

It  was  only  then  that,  recalling  the  last  injunctions  of 
his  mother  and  the  humble  inheritance  she  had  left  him 
on  her  death-bed,  he  gave  the  Easter  egg  to  Abb^  Denys, 
telling  him,  at  the  same  time,  its  touching  history. 

"  You  may  open  it  to-day,"  said  the  Abbd,  "  and  we 
will  say  together  the  first  prayers  on  the  rosary  it  con- 
tains, to  the  end  thj  God  may  grant  you,  with  the 
abundance  of  his  favors,  the  crowning  grace  of  perse- 
verance. 

**  Open  it  yourself,"  said  Ernest ;  "  you  who  have 
opened  my  soul  to  the  treasures  of  divine  mercy."  Then, 
with  a  hand  trembling  with  emotion,  Abbo  Denys  broke 
the  sealed  bfue  ribbon  that  tied  the  red  Easter  egg,  and, 
under  a  coral  rosary  and  a  silver  medal,  he  found  a 
paper,  which  he  glanced  over  in  silence,  an  ineffable 
expression  of  joy  stealing  over  his  placid  features. 

"  That  paper  doubtless  contains  the  last  solemn  wishes 
of  my  dear  and  good  mother,"  said  Ernest. 

"  I  was  right  in  telling  you,"  said  the  Abbe,  again 
shaking  him  by  the  hand,  "  that  Providence  would  not 
abandon  you.  Now  thank  God,  who  sends  you  from  the 
grave  four  hundred  and  sixty  thousand  francs  P^ 

The  paper  which  the  Abbe  had  just  read  was  the  re- 
ceipt for  that  sum,  deposited  in  one  of  the  principal 
banks  of  Paris.  So  this  was  the  secret  of  Mother 
Mathusalem's  Easter  Egg,  and  a  good  use  Ernest  made 
of  it,  as  the  poor  of  the  Norman  village  where  he  lives 
can  all  bear  witness. 


r:-. 


m 


■'^A 


MALDONATAj 


OR, 


THE  GRATEFUL  LIONESS. 


The  city  of  Buenos  Ayres  was  founded  by  the  Span- 
^iards  in  1535.  The  new  colony  were  soon  in  want  of 
provisions ;  all  those  who  ventured  to  go  in  search  of 
them  were  massacred  by  the  savages,  so  that  at  length  it 
became  necessary  to  forbid  any  one,  under  pain  of  death, 
to  quit  the  limits  of  the  new  settlement.  A  woman  to 
whom  hunger  had  probably  given  courage  to  brave  death, 
contrived  to  elude  the  vigilance  of  the  sentinels  who  had 
been  placed  around  the  colony  in  order  to  preserve  it 
from  the  dangers  to  which  famine  exposed  it.  Maldo- 
uata,  (as  she  was  called)  after  wandering  a  long  while 
through  dreary  and  unknown  paths,  went  into  a  cavern  to 
rest  herself  after  so  much  fatigue.  What  was  her  terror, 
when  she  beheld  a  lioness  there  ;  but  her  surprise  was 
still  greater  than  her  terror,  when  she  saw  the  formidable 
beast  approaching  her  with  a  timid  air,  caressing  her  and 


El 


MALDONATA  ;    OR,    THE   GRATEFUL   LIONESS. 


139 


ss. 


Span- 
A/^ant  of 
arch  of 
ength  it 
r  death, 
3maii  to 
e  death, 
i^ho  had 
serve  it 
Maldo- 
g  while 
ivern  to 
•  terror, 
ise  was 
midablc 
her  and 


licking  her  hands,  moaning  and  crying  so  piteously,  at  the 
same  time,  that  she  inspired  pity  rather  than  fear.     The 
Spaniard  soon  perceived  that  the  lioness  was  about  to 
bring  forth  her  young,  and  compassionately  did  what  she 
could  to  assist  nature  and  assuage  the  poor  animal's  pain. 
The  lioness,  safely  delivered,  soon  goes  forth  in  search  of 
food,  and  lays  an  abundant  supply  at  the  feet  of  her  bene- 
factress ;  the  latter  shared  it  every  day  with  the  young 
cubs,  who,  growing  up  around  her,  seemed  to  take  pleas- 
ure in  frisking  about  for  her  amusement.     But  when 
advancing  age  gave  them  the  instinct  of  seeking  their 
own  prey,  with  the  strength  to  seize  and  devour  it,  the 
family  dispersed  through  the  woods  ;   and  the  lioness, 
whom  maternal  affection  no  longer  detained  in  the  cavern, 
disappeared  herself,  and  roamed  abroad  through  the  wil- 
derness, which  famine  was  fast  depopulating.   Maldonata, 
alone  and  without  subsistence,  was  forced  to  quit  a  cav- 
ern so  much  dreaded  by  her  fellow  creatures,  but  in 
which  her  own  kindness  had  procured  her  an  asylum. 
The  woman,  unhapily  deprived  of  her  kind  associates, 
had  not  been  long  a  wanderer,  when  she  fell  into  the 
hands  of  some  savage  Indians.     A  lioness  had  fed  her, 
and  men  made  her  a  slave  I     She  was  soon  after  retaken 
by  the  Spaniards,  who  brought  her  back  once  more  to 
Buenos  Ay  res.     The  commandant,  more  ferocious  than 
either  lions  or  Indians,  considered,  doubtless,  that  she 
was  not  yet  sufficiently  punished  for  stealing  away  ;  the 
barbarian  ordered  her  to  be  tied  to  a  tree,  in  the  midst 
of  the  woods,  either  to  die  of  hunger  or  be  devoured  by 
wild  beasts.    Two  davs  after  some  of  the  soldiers  went 


140 


MALDONATA  J   OR,   THE   GRATEFUL  LIONESS. 


li'^ 


I 


iff 


to  see  what  had  become  of  the  unhappy  victim.  They 
found  her  still  alive,  in  the  midst  of  hungry  tigers,  who, 
glaring  with  open  mouths  on  their  prey,  dared  not 
approach,  because  of  a  lioness  that  lay  crouched  at  her 
feet  with  her  cubs.  The  soldiers  were  struck  dumb  with 
amazement  at  the  sight.  The  lioness,  perceiving  them, 
immediately  left  the  tree,  as  if  to  leave  them  at  liberty 
to  unbind  her  benefactress.  But  when  they  came  to  take 
her  away  with  them,  the  animal  came  slowly  and  deject- 
edly to  confirm  b^  her  fond  caresses  and  low,  pitiful 
moans,  the  prodigies  of  gratitude  related  by  the  woman 
to  her  deliverers.  The  lioness  and  her  cubs  followed  the 
Spaniard  for  some  time,  evincing  after  their  own  manner, 
all  the  heartfelt  sorrow  that  a  human  family  displays 
when  accompanying  to  the  ship  a  fiither  or  a  beloved  son, 
who  is  about  leaving  his  native  land  forever. 

The  commandant,  informed  by  his  soldiers  of  what  had 
taken  place,  was  at  length  shamed  into  humanity  by  the 
example  of  a  wild  beast,  and  spared  the  life  of  a  woman 
whom  Heaven  had  so  visibly  protected. 

What  a  beautiful  moral  is  contained,  my  dear  children, 
in  this  story,  so  touching  in  its  simplicity.  Gratitude,  we 
see,  is  a  feeling  implanted  by  the  Creator  in  the  hearts 
even  of  savage  animals.  How  odious,  then,  must  ingrat- 
itude be,  the  ingratude  of  beings  endowed  with  reason 
and  intelligence,  in  the  sight  of  that  God  who  created 
men  to  his  own  image  and  likeness,  and  would  have  them 
regulate  their  lives  by  His  holy  If  w.  Gratitude  may  be 
called,  and  truly  is,  one  of  the  natural  virtues,  or  those 
implanted  in  our  nature,  but  in  so  far  as  it  concerns  God, 


'M 


MALDONATA  ;   OR,   THE   GRATEFUL   LIONESS. 


141 


They 

s,  who, 

ed   not 

at  her 

lb  with 

;  them, 

liberty 

to  take 

deject- 

pitiful 
woman 
^ed  the 
nanner, 
lis  plays 
ed  son, 

lat  had 
by  the 
woman 

hildren, 
iide,  we 

hearts 
ingrat- 

reason 
created 
re  them 
may  be 
r  those 
IS  God, 


the  author  of  all  good,  it  becomes  a  divine  virtue,  seeing 
that  its  object  is  Himself,  our  divine  Benefactor,  our  Cre- 
ator, our  Redeemer,  our  Father,  who  is  in  Heaven. 
Gratitude  to  men  is  a  natural  virtue,  and  as  such,  well 
pleasing  to  God.  Gratitude  to  God  is  a  divine  virtue, 
and  merits  an  eternal  reward. 


MS.  J.  SADLIER'S  WOBES 

Original  and  Translated. 


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(( 


i( 


ti 


I 


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Other  Volumes  In  Preparation, 


Protestantism  and  Infidelity — By  F.  X.  Winenger.   12mo,  cloth,      75 
lilfe  of  Mary  Q,ueen  of  Scot's — By  Donald  McLeod.    Time,  430 

pages,  cloth,  .......  75 

cloth  gilt,      -  -  -  .  -  -  -  1  12 

The  Clock  of  the  Passion— By  St.  Alpbonsus  Ligouri.    cloth, 

"  "  "  •'  gilt. 

Revelations  of  St.Brldget — On  the  Life  and  Passion  of  Our  Lord, 
and  the  Life  of  His  Blessed  Mother.  With  an  Essay.  By  Rev.  W. 
H.  Neligan,  D.  D,    18mo,  cloth,    - 


// 


25 
38 


88 


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'ars.  Trans- 
ted  by  Mrn. 
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Irothera— 

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I.  J.  Sadlier. 
oiiceptlon 

Mrs.  J.  Sad- 
Mrs.  J.  Sad- 


50 
76 

60 
76 

38 
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38 
60 

26 
88 

60 

60 
75 

15 

16 


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ales— From 
sides,     - 
the  French. 


25 
38 
15 

25 
38 
16 

25 
38 
15 


12mo,  cloth,      75 
.     12mo,  430 

75 

1  12 

iri.    cloth,  25 

gilt,  38 

of  Our  Lord, 

By  Rev.  W. 

-  .  88 


